


Kink Meme Fills

by Jellyfiggles



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Figging, Fluff and Smut, Gangbang, Genderbend, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Rape, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Tentacle Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Too many freaky things in here, Violence, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 34,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfiggles/pseuds/Jellyfiggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mini-fills and oneshots for the Kink Meme. Various pairings, some non-con and some ridiculous fluff.</p>
<p>Warnings at the start of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bofur/Fem!Bilbo - Awkward oral

Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2861755#t2861755  
 _There have been some excellent fills on cunnilingus happening, and yeah, it can be gorgeous._

_The thing is, for some women, it just doesn't float the boat. Sometimes it's downright painful, ticklish, or just 'blah, tongue, yuk!'_

_Bilbo's enjoying herself with her dwarven partner until he decides to eat her out. [points if it's something that really brings off dwarves of both varieties] She's just not into it._

_Does he notice? Does she care, if he's enjoying himself?_

 

\--

 

**Warnings:** Awkward, non-painful discomfort during consensual cunnilingus.

 

Bilbo moaned as Bofur kissed the side of her neck, hair tickling the outer shell of her ear in a caress to match his lips. The press of slightly chapped lips left a trail of fire from just below her ear to her throat and she clutched at his broad shoulders, trembling.

Bofur nipped her suddenly, teeth teasing a bit harder than was comforting and she grumbled a little, making him chuckle. He soothed the bite with gentle licks and Bilbo felt herself gasping once more, heat spreading downwards, her legs cupped tightly around Bofur’s hips. Her fingers tangled in thick, dark hair as his mouth moved from neck to collarbone, to the soft skin just above her breasts.

His hands moved from where they had been gently holding the back of her thighs to her chest, cupping a breast in each hand. Bilbo rocked against him, tingles and heat swirling within each breast and slipping down to pool in her hips and between her thighs as Bofur caressed and gently squeezed them, catching the nipples between thumb and forefinger. She looked down to see Bofur grin, his mouth hovering over a pert, hardened nipple and she found herself crying out as he finally moved to suck the teat into his mouth.

Bilbo’s curly head rocked back as her back arched, a strangled moan escaping her lips as Bofur continued, his mouth a deviously, deliciously hot cavern, pulling her in. His tongue twirled and lavished hot slick attention all over her sensitive skin as she clutched his shoulders desperately. Her knees brushed against his waist as she arched again, her thighs quivering against him in need.

With one last suckle, he abandoned her breasts and continued to shift down her half-naked body, kissing a trail from breasts to navel. Bilbo felt his fingers at her skirts and smiled down at him in encouragement, face flushed and eyes bright with arousal. Bofur smiled back, thick fingers curling into the fabric and tugging it down, past her hips and knees until she was completely naked. Skin pale and creamy in the candlelight.

The first touch of fingertips on her inner thighs makes her shiver, cold imprints against her enflamed skin. His thumbs stroke against the skin and she gasps as he kisses the mound above her sex, burying his nose in her curls. Bilbo cannot stop herself trembling at the first stroke of his tongue against her, the sensation new and peculiar.

As he continues Bilbo finds herself shifting slightly, the sensation which was at first simply odd, has started to become uncomfortable. The tongue is too slick, creating a rather unpleasant wet feeling against her. Bofur focuses at the upper part of her sex, which feels far too sensitive; it almost hurts and causes her to wince. She cannot stop herself from making a distressed noise, her hips curling upwards, away from Bofur. Bilbo regrets it immediately, worrying what Bofur will think.

He looks up, his pink tongue still extended for a moment before it withdraws back past his lips. His mouth is wet and his eyes are quizzical, with a hint of hurt. “Everything alright, love?” His voice holds concern and his thumb strokes her thigh, almost unconsciously.

Bilbo swallows, “Quite alright, I have just… I have never done that before. Is it supposed to feel good?” She has limited knowledge of Dwarven practices; perhaps this is something only dwarves feel pleasure from? Certainly her previous hobbit partners had never expressed an interest in performing this practice, although she was familiar with performing the practise on them.

Bofur looked stunned, as though he was hovering somewhere between surprise and horror. “It is common enough for Dwarves, both our men and maidens are very fond of it, we can spend many an hour pleasuring one another this way. Does it not feel good?”

Bilbo smiled sheepishly, sitting up a little on her elbows. “It… feels… I am less fond of it than your fingers. I do not know if it is simply because I am not a dwarf woman… although most hobbit men enjoy receiving such pleasure.” She finds herself a little lost, and somewhere nearing guilty, Bofur looks absolutely crestfallen.

“Aye well… perhaps this is not something you like; I suppose there must be Dwarven lasses who dislike it too.” He seems contemplative and straightens his arms, pulling himself up until he is lying beside her. He cups her face and smiles “So I reckon you should be showing me what you like love, or else I’d be a terrible lover.” His free hand gently takes hers and strokes it down to her thighs. “Pra’haps I can watch you, for you’re sure to be skilled with your fingers.”


	2. Gollum/Bilbo - Non-con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=95166#t95166  
>  _Trigger warning for: Rape/non-con, Claustrophobia, and mentions of intention to consume hobbit flesh._
> 
> _For some reason I got the strangest boner watching Bilbo squirm trying to escape Gollum. Don't know what it was, probably the immobilization and look of fear in his eyes and being prey._
> 
> _Suppose Bilbo didn't get lucky enough to have his buttons come off and Gollum took advantage of his immobilized position. (Can be a slightly altered position to facilitate Gollum on Bilbo action- can't have non-con without an ass exposed.) Gollum thinks of him as food and is trying to grab at him all he can but his wiry hands all over Bilbo's ass and legs and feet and eventually fingers him/fucks him. However you choose to end it is fine with me (does he get away or not?)._
> 
> _Thanks in advance, kind anons!_

**Warnings/Possible Triggers:** Non-con, Claustrophobia, mentions of cannibalism, biting (and a little blood), rimming and fingering.

 

Bilbo runs down the stone corridor as fast as his little legs can take him, his sword clutched in his outstretched fingers. Behind him he can hear the hisses and curses Gollum is spluttering out, and the slap of wet hands and feet on the rocky floor. He turns a corner and spots up ahead a gap, a jaggedly thin gap, in the otherwise dead end.

With a gasp he flings himself forwards, shoving himself into the gap. Just as he shifts to turn sideways, a bony hand grips his ankle from behind and he ends up wedged, his curly head and one arm through the gap, his sword clanging as it bounces along the floor out of reach.

He struggles, his shoulders wedged between rock, his lower back and legs trapped behind him. Where Gollum was, he realised. In fear he attempts to twist but finds himself unable to move, the rock digging into his shoulders and trapped arm. He groans in pain and shudders as he hears Gollum laugh, the creature shuffling about behind in the tunnel.

Gollum reaches forwards, eyes bright at his fortune. The Baggins is trapped, his legs trembling and bare feet scuffling desperately against the ground. He will look for his precious and then, he licks his lips, he will taste that sweet flesh. The mutated hobbit’s fingers begin to feel for pockets. “What has the nassssty Bagginses got in his nasssty pocketsesss?”

Bilbo shudders as those fingers touch him. “I haven’t anything of use to you!” he gasps desperately, voice filled with fear. Already he can feel his trapped arm and shoulders aching and he pants, the gloom of the passage in front of him terrifying him. He can not escape and he can see only two conclusions to this tale, either something will attack from the dark ahead, or he will be eaten alive by the horrid creature behind. Both of these dark thoughts make him squirm, legs kicking out at Gollum.

“Argh! Where iss it?” Gollum glares at the hobbit’s breeches. His precious seems to be eluding him, perhaps the nasty Baggins has hidden it underneath them? Yess, he decided, they should be taken off. He grips the belt and fabric and tugs, the grubby cloth slipping to reveal creamy flesh, round and rosy and suddenly Gollum is transfixed, tongue lolling out as his stomach grumbles. Such delicious flesh, he wants to- no, needs to taste it...

Bilbo gasps as he feels a soft, wet touch against his hip, slicking a cool trail across bared skin. He clenches his thighs together in response, renewing his struggle against the walls. Blood wells as he scratches and scuffs his skin against sharp rock, his arm going numb. The hobbit pants, feeling his breath quicken. He’s trapped, trapped with an evil creature touching... licking his skin. He remembers the creature’s mouth suddenly, only a few sharpened teeth and blackened gums and he wails, feet scuffling against the ground.

Gollum moans at the taste of the hobbit’s smooth flesh. So, so sweet. So different from fish and the grimy, soured flavour of goblin. He bites on the round cheek, teeth sinking into softness, sweet blood filling his mouth and slipping past his lips down his chin. He hears the Baggins yelp and groans in the back of his throat, hands gripping the other’s hips hard. Gollum moves back and licks his lips, swallowing. Red, burgundy in the gloom, leaves behind a trail down the pale flesh and he follows it with his tongue, lapping like a cat, purring in desire.

Bilbo grips an outcropping section of rock with his free hand, gritting his teeth against the pain. Once, when he was young, he had gotten into a playful fight with two of his Took cousins and the girl had bitten him hard. This was nothing like that bite, it was stinging pain, and the licks, to his dismay, soothed the pain. He twitches as that tongue suddenly moves, trailing to the cleft between his buttocks and Bilbo feels his eyes open wide in shocked horror, certainly the creature would not-

Eyes closed in delight, Gollum is surprised when the tip of his tongue slips over Bilbo’s opening. He feels the hobbit shudder and licks at it once more, feeling it clench tighter. In response he worms his tongue in, the tight heat tasting good, untouched. His finger joins his tongue, spreading the other wider, allowing him to taste more.

Bilbo cries out, his hips shuddering as he is slicked and stretched. The burn of the finger's intrusion eased by the tongue and allowing it to slip deeper inside him. Gollum's saliva trickles down his skin and teases over his testicles and suddenly, much to his horror, he's hard. The hobbit is ashamed and disgusted with himself and struggles even more against the creature's ministrations. "No! Stop, w-what are you-uh doing?!"

Gollum is rather immersed in the other hobbit’s rear and the sudden urgent struggles make him pull back. His hand moves to still Baggins’ leg, his bulging eyes widening as he encounteres hot, hardened flesh. He struggles for a moment to remember what that means, what it is. Remembers years ago, stalking for goblin stragglers in the dark, Precious on his finger... two goblins up against the cave wall, one spitting in it's hand, rubbing over itself and pressing it's hardness into the squirming, squealing goblin pressed against the wall. Grunts and growls and Gollum is shocked by the heat in his loins and flees.

He remembers this now, and reaches down to feel his own hardness. Dim memories that hurt to think remind him of pale flesh once, long ago, wet fingers inside him and then, pleasure. Gollum growls and crawls up the Baggins' body, spitting into his palm and taking his hardness, pushing inside that tight heat.

Bilbo yelps at the sudden stretch, the pressure ramming him into the gap, adding to his doscomfort. "No!" he yells, voice filled with panic, "Stop! Let go of me! Aah, please no more!" The intrusion burns, and he cries out as Gollum wrenches him back with cruel gripping fingers, pushing himself deep inside of him. He has been a bachelor his entire life, although he has watched many a fair hobbit lass wistfully over the years, he has never entertained his first time might be at the hands of such a vile creature!

Gollum does not heed his forced partner's pleeds and instead he moans, taking the hobbit harder. "Bagginses... yesss, mine!" The heat and the softness feel so good, nothing like he has felt for a long, long time. His Precious is a different kind of pleasure but this, this is something that burns him, burns him in a good way. He thinks he would like to keep this creature, perhaps on his little island, until it starves or he gets hungry. The flesh under him is so nice and delicious, and the sounds the other is making send pleasurable tingles down his spine.

Bilbo feels something rip, the stitches jointing the sleeves to the body of his coat. He shouts as Gollum's next thrust pushes him loose, and he's falling, landing on the ground with a thump. Gollum, who is skinny and naked slips through after him with little difficulty, landing on Bilbo's back. Bilbo is stunned for a moment before he tries to leap up and away.

Gollum shrieks as he falls, the fall causes him to slip from the hobbit. He growls as he feels the Baggins trying to escape and he grabs the other's wrists, holding him down. Gollum pushes back into that heat and groans. "No, mine, not getting away nasssty Bagginses!"

Bilbo curses his luck, whining as he's re-entered. He feels Gollum nipping the back of his neck and he whimpers, the other's member hitting a spot inside of him which causes sparks of pleasure to climb inside. His own member is straining against his stomach, leaking and needy.

Gollum nips a pointed ear, emitting low grunts and cries of pleasure as he nears his peak. Almost there, so so good... "Aaah Bagginses!" He comes, filling the hobbit with wet warmth.

Bilbo gasps out something unintelligible, rocking under Gollum desperately as he too reaches his peak, white flashes before his eyes and he moans low in this throat. Gollum has gone limp behind him and Bilbo wastes no time, jumping up to his feet. He tugs his breeches up from where they had been tangled around his ankles and grabs his sword from the ground.

He runs around the corner and sees light, a doorway! Speeding through he runs, and does not look back.

Gollum crouches up, too shocked at first to move. The Baggins was gone! With a scream he runs after the other, "MY PRECIOUSSSS!!!!"


	3. Gollum/Smeagol - Non-con, insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1895366#t1895366
> 
> _Gollum forces Smeagol to masturbate, while Smeagol wrestles with self loathing. (Sort of like dub-con between the two personalities in the same body?)_

Smeagol glares out at no one in particular, a growl filling this throat. “Smeagol isn’t yours.”

His body posture changes, shoulders stiffening and his lip curls into a sneer, “I keeps us safe, I catches the fish and chokes the goblinses. You’re weak and a sneaking coward, you belong to me!”

Smeagol shrinks back against the wall, his glare wobbling as his resolve weakens. He fears Gollum who seems so much stronger than the former Stoor hobbit, so capable of murder. His voice has been with him so long, it is difficult not to listen. “Smeagol is not-“

“Where would you be without me?!” Gollum’s harsher voice interrupts. “Gollum Gollum, I am your master, you do as I says!” He tugs down the brown loincloth around his waist, remnants of clothing from long ago. “Touch yourself.”

Smeagol flinches, he knows, somehow, Gollum is part of him, but he can still hurt him. Scratches on his thighs and bite marks on his arms are testimony to that fact. With a whimper, he slides a hand down to where his thighs meet and curls his fingers around himself.

A purr escapes his throat, his eyes narrowing in pleasure, “yesss, yess, carefully, you knows how. Harder and fassster.” His free hand curls a finger under his chin, tilting his face up, “you loves this, I sees it in your eyes.”

Smeagol looks up, eyes full of unbridled shame and loathing, his hand speeds up, hips jerking against his will. “I hates you.” But his voice is a low mutter, lacking his prior conviction.

He laughs, head rolling back in mirth. “Oh you do? Perhaps I takes the Precious and leaves you all alone to die?” he laughs again, biting his wrist harshly. “You don’t want that now do you? Nooo.”

Smeagol yelps at the pain of the bite, pulling his arm away and cradling against his chest. He’s panting now, whimpers intertwined with harsh breathing. He feels Gollum’s eyes on him and he swallows, his rhythm increasing in speed.

He moans, pinching at nipples and slipping two fingers into that panting mouth. Smeagol whines around them in response and Gollum groans, hungry for that needy mouth. He withdraws his fingers, spreading the saliva down over the soft lips to Smeagol’s chin. “You wants me, look at how you cries out for me.”

Smeagol cannot help but cry out, body aflame. Gollum is stronger, and crueller, and his fingers are more devious. Hating himself for it, he takes them into his mouth again, sucking like the whore he knows he is. He moans around them as he climbs to his peak.

He hisses, feeling Smeagol jerking, those bony hips thrusting against naught but his own hand. Such control he has, such power. He presses those fingers into that talented tongue and growls, watching those hips...

Smeagol wails, the sound loud in the gloom, echoing within the cave walls. This back arches and sparks dance like fairies behind his eyelids, body stuck in a perfect limbo for one long moment. He comes back to himself, back pressed against the rocky wall, his hand wet and cooling in the cold air. He is horrified at himself, he has given into Gollum again, acted as his wanton slave.

Gollum chuckles, licking the slick, sticky seed from Smeagol’s trembling hand. “I tolds you you was mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more Gollum fills for me, I'm done.
> 
> *shudder*


	4. Thorin/Bilbo - Ass Fetish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1071302#t1071302
> 
>  
> 
> _Noticed in the film, particularly scenes where Bilbo is crawling, that Martin Freeman has quite a nice, juicy round ass as Bilbo. (And it was as if he were inadvertently sticking it out while crawling around on all fours). I would like to see a piece where Thorin notices that the hobbit has a rather plush and delicious looking ass and finds himself staring at it and thinking of it at the most inappropriate times. (I don't know, perhaps Bilbo has dropped something and when he bends over Thorin gets an eyeful of breech-clad goodness)_
> 
> _+10 if Bilbo ends up inadvertently giving Thorin a hard on with dat ass on display._  
>  +100 if Thorin and Bilbo end up in a physically awkward situation where Bilbo's ass is squirming/rubbing against him and...  
> +1,000,000 if all of this sexual frustration and wiggling and whatnot of the hobbit's ass comes to a head with Thorin grabbing Bilbo and having his way with him, finally getting to touch and play with and fuck that which has been torturing him. ;) 

Thorin considers himself a self-controlled dwarf. Certainly he is prone to brooding and the occasional angry outburst, but for the most part he feels he is in control of himself. He has trained himself well, mastering his body and mind with an iron-will.

And this is why, when he watches the hobbit bend over to pick up the bedroll that has fallen from his pack, he is shocked by the heat that suddenly builds within his belly and the hardness between his legs that follows. The dwarf coughs awkwardly and turns away from the company and the sight of that shapely arse, face filled with as much heat as any dwarven furnace.

It takes a moment of adjusting the front of his tunic and breeches, and thinking of nauseating things, before he feels ready to turn around. The company look at him expectantly for orders and he avoids looking directly at Bilbo as he addresses them.  
\--

It happens again the next time they make camp. Bilbo jumps up from where he had been sitting between Bofur and Bombur. "I've got something to show you!" he exclaims before he moves to where his bedroll lies, crawling to his pack and looking for something.

Thorin stops short at the display, biting his tongue and clenching his fists as blood rushes in his ears and heat flushes his cheeks. Bilbo is inadvertantly arching his spine, his rump on full display. It really is quite shapely, Thorin decides, plump and perfectly symetrical, the fabric of those breeches pulled tight against it.

Bilbo sits up and looks around, feeling eyes on him. "Is there soemthing I can help you with Mr Thorin?" the little hobbit asks, perplexed by the dwarf's dark, intense gaze.

Thorin scowls, thankful his beard helps to hide his blush. "No, Mr Baggins." And he stalks off, body aching with need.

\--

They're tied in sacks... thank you Mr Baggins, your arse might be fine but your burglar skills are somewhat lacking. Thorin glares out at nobody in particular and listens to the trolls discuss cooking his company. He is not sure whether to blame Bilbo or Kili and Fili, but the hobbit has already gained his irritation through inadvertant arse-wiggles so he decides to blame him for the moment.

He is stunned when Bilbo leaps to his feet and begins to... suggest ways to cook them?! He's outraged... and then he's looking at Bilbo's back encased within the sack and can't help but miss the sight of his arse. He has to shake himself back into reality as his thoughts take the turn to the devious, imagining the curves and what he wants to do to them.

He is drawn back to the present as a troll argues Bilbo's suggestion to skin the dawrves as wrong and the dwarf prince's eyes widen as poor Bombur is pulled up, one of the troll's preparing to eat him.

"N-not that one! He's infected!" he hears Bilbo cry and he can't help but stare at the hobbit. Ah, a diversion technique, very clever. He imagines if they escape this rewarding Bilbo with a good grope of his arse. Or would that just be rewarding himself?

Despite Bilbo almost succeeding with making the trolls reconsider, his nephew manages to blurt out stupidly and the trolls sense they're being had. Gandalf's knack of good timing saves them in the nick of time.

Thorin is annoyed that he can't look away as Bilbo is helped from his sack, his rear exposed as the thick fabric falls to the hobbit's feet. He is glad he has kept hold of his sack, it makes an excellent excuse to hold his hands in front of his waist.

\--

The breaking point comes unexpectedly. They're climbing up a sharp cliff, ropes tied around their waists and Bilbo is above him. He grabs the outcropping rocks with more force than in necessary, all he can see up above is the hobbit spread-eagled over the rocks, furry feet struggling for purchace. And his arse, two chubby cheeks jiggling slightly as the other climbs.

Thorin can hear himself growling, body thrumming with desire. He can barely hear the others calling and panting and grunting as they pull themselves up under him. He hears the scuff of Bilbo losing his footing however, and the yelp the hobbit gives out as he falls. Into Thorin's arms.

The dwarf prince is enternally grateful his rope is tied firmly to a tree up above as he clings to the hobbit. Thorin is pressed against Bilbo's back and Bilbo is pressed safely against the cliff wall. The dwarf can smell the musk of Bilbo's hair, and his arse is pressed into his groin. No amount of self-control could prevent the hardness that presses into the hobbit's rear.

Bilbo feels the hardness, and Thorin's nose pressed against the back of his neck, nosing the curls. His cheeks flush and he squirms in the other's arms, feet struggling to find a foothold. He hears Thorin groan and gasps, rocking backwards as those hips jerk forwards.

"You alright down there? We'll pull you up lads!" Bofur's voice startles them both and Thorin has just enough presence of mind to keep a firm hold of Bilbo as they are pulled up by Bofur and Dwalin.

Bilbo gasps as the tugs jerk him against Thorin and he can hardly think, heat taking over his body, an answering hardness trapped in his tight breeches. The minutes they are being pulled up are some of the longest in the hobbit's life, the touch of their bodies burning.

Thorin can barely think to pull himself, and lug the hobbit, up over the cliff edge. Bilbo's body is burning hot compared to the cool grass. He keeps a hold of the hobbit as he climbs to his feet and suddenly he can't take anymore. He nods his thanks to Bofur and Dwalin and growls out a curt "make sure the others get up safely, the hobbit and I need to talk."

And even as the hobbit makes to say something he drags him away from the others, behind a thicket of trees and a large boulder. He wrenches the hobbit around and shoves his back against the boulder, not too roughly, but none too gentle either.

Bilbo makes a strangled noise in the back of this throat. He doesn't know whether to be terrified by Thorin's dark, hungry gaze, or aroused. "T-Thorin?" he squeaks and his body thrums with heat and anxiety.

"You know not what you do to me halfling, ask me to stop now, if you wish it." His voice is little more than a growl, the words so gruff they are almost unintelligible. His hands slide from their grip on Bilbo's shoulders, down his back to the arse that has been tormenting him for weeks. He gropes the soft flesh fervently, a groan slipping from his throat.

Bilbo can hardly think with Thorin's hands on him, spreading liquid heat through is skin. He cannot deny he hasn't thought of touching the prince before and been distracted by delicious fantasies he had been sure were onesided. He moans and pulls Thorin down into a hungry kiss, the beard tickling his chin.

Thorin abandons all resistance, dragging Bilbo against him with the hands clutching his arse prossessively. He deepens the kiss, devouring Bilbo's mouth. He stops the kiss eventually, kissing down the hobbit's pale neck. Bilbo arches his back and Thorin groans. He manhandles the hobbit, twisting him so he is pressed belly against the boulder. Thorin kneels between the hairless, trembling legs and kisses the hobbit's lower cheeks, sucking and licking and kneading with his fingers as Bilbo gasps and groans above him.

Bilbo moans, low is his throat, as Thorin spreads his cheeks, his mouth and tongue lavishing attention on the silken, untouched skin, penetrating and stretching him with soft, silky warmth. He imagines Thorin taking him suddenly and he shudders with desire and a little nervousness.

The hobbit tastes as good as he looks, although he tastes different from the dwarves Thorin has been with before. He wants him, his cock leaking, staining the front of his breeches. Thorin sucks on his fingers, slipping them in, one at first to stretch, and then two to scissor. Bilbo cries out and Thorin grunts, watching the slow stretch of his fingers inside the other. Maybe one more finger would do it? Or would four be best? The hobbit is so small...

Bilbo finds himself rocking, the thick fingers pressing inside him just this side of uncomfortable but no more painful than a graze. His eyes widen as another slicked finger begins to press in and he gasps and it stretches him further. Thorin pushes his fingers deeper and they spark something inside of him, colours flashing behind his eyelids.

Thorin finds he is losing control fast. The feeling of Bilbo rocking, his rear stretched around three thick dwarven fingers, is almost enough to bring over the edge. He gently pulls the fingers from Bilbo, slicking himself with saliva. He stands, grasping the hobbit's hips. "I am going to push myself inside, try to not tense as it will hurt more."

Bilbo tries to relax, puffing out a breath, hands gripping the boulder as Thorin eases himself inside. The fingers have stretched him well and though Thorin is thicker, it does not hurt too much. When Thorin is fully pressed against his back, set deep within him, he stills and they both gasp out heaving breaths. And then Bilbo wails as Thorin moves, taking him hard.

Oh, perhaps the next time they will make sweet, slow passionate love. This time Thorin will claim that arse, it's been flirting with him long enough. He nips Bilbo's ear and groans into the hobbit's neck as they rut against the boulder, and for the first time in weeks he feels satisfied.

\--

Back by the cliff, the company have finished setting up their camp. They are not deaf to the sounds coming from beyond the thicket.

"I was wonderin' when they'd get around to it, been starin' at each other fer weeks." Dwalin chuckles, leaning back against a tree.

"Well, you know how it is, Thorin's always been a bit clueless. Drives me up the wall." Balin replied, rolling his eyes.

The company laughed and, much to their leader's, and burglar's, embarrassment, they gave a great cheer when the couple finally finished and came back with ruffled clothes and red faces.


	5. Balin/Thorin -  First Time Teaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5472065#t5472065
> 
> _Balin patiently teaching Thorin how to pleasure another male with Thorin's own body as subject._

**Warnings:** Inexperience, first-time (with male), oral, frot, too much thought not enough porn.

(Set before the fall of Erebor when Thorin has just come of age (been of age for a couple of years). young, inexperienced Thorin and gentle-tutor Balin.)

 

Thorin sits awkwardly in his chambers, nervous beyond what he thinks is justified. He has tumbled with a few dwarven lasses before, but this is his first time with a male. Balin had only smiled reassuringly at him when he had asked, curious, about how one lay with with another male and stated it really needed a demonstration, words could hardly give a clear picture.

Balin offered to teach him and Thorin had hesitantly agreed. He trusts Balin, more so than many around him. The older dwarf had been a conforting presence he could remember from an early age, a wise council and honest friend, and Thorin can think of no other he would trust to teach him.

The knock at his door makes him jump, so very engrossed in his own thoughts, he is caught unawares. "Enter." he finds his voice cracking slightly and is ashamed. This is not his first time and he is not some human lass.

Balin nods to him politely, a fond smile tilting his lips. "Balin, at your service, your majesty." The older dwarf moves into the room and closes the door, still smiling reassuringly.

Thorin feels his stomach clench with a combination of anticipation and anxiety. What if he cannot perform admirably for one of his most idolised mentors? How would that reflect on his family? His father would certainly be disappointed... "Thorin, at yours." He stands, and Balin embraces him, thick arms encasing him protectively.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do lad," Balin looks up at him seriously, "this night is for you."

And Thorin feels even more ashamed, as though Balin has implied he's weak. "I want this Mr Balin, I am ready." He may be inexperienced, but he is a fast-learner and he kisses Balin fiercely.

The kiss is a little haphazard and Thorin flushes red in embarrassment, even as his teeth knock into Balin's accidentally.  
Balin stills him with gentle, but firm, hands on his shoulders and he gives a chuckle. "Don't be nervous lad, you're a good student. Now let me show you," Balin slides a hand past his beard and cups the side of his face, tilting his head down and to the left slightly.

Thorin lets himself be lead, heat flushing his face as their lips come together once more, so much softer and slower this time. Balin takes his time, the kiss chaste for a long while before the older dwarf swipes his tongue across Thorin's bottom lip. The younger prince parts his lips, gasping when Balin deepens the kiss forcefully, unexpectedly, and his hands cling to Balin's shoulders as his mouth is plundered by a much more experienced tongue.

The tongue runs across the top of his mouth, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake and Thorin shudders, a groan escaping his throat. Balin continues his assault of the prince's mouth, his tongue attempting to explore every hidden nook and crevice. Thorin feels as though everything is tingling, even his teeth. Heat spreads from his cheeks, down his neck, spreading down his belly and to the patch of skin under Balin's hand at his hip. 

Balin pulls back, breaking the kiss languidly. Thorin's eyes are glazed, his lips wet and heat flushes under his sparse beard. The older dwarf smiles, feeling his body warming slowly. The young prince is a beautiful sight to behold; his eyes filled with the strange mixture of over-eagerness and the fear of failure that plagues youth. Balin cups his face again, "A kiss is a powerful thing, it can be chaste or passionate. You will know if your partner likes it by how their body moves against yours. If they seem distressed or are shifting not in pleasure, it is wise to stop your actions and talk with them."

He kisses Thorin's cheek, pressing a few more chaste kisses to his jaw. "As with a lass, kisses and soft caresses feel good on the face, the ears and the neck," he speaks softly against the skin as he presses his lips on a trail, southwards to the neck, the beard soft against his lips. He feels Thorin's adam's apple tremble under his lips.

Thorin feels the heat in his body notch up to furnace levels and he shudders, knees stuttering where he stands. Balin's hands are hot against his waist and the young prince isn't sure where to rest his own. As the older dwarf pulls back, Thorin blinks, "W-where do I place my hands?" The stutter makes him feel decades younger but Balin's body is warm and he can hardly think straight.

Balin pats his shoulder and begins to guide him towards his bed. "Waist and shoulders are the safest places, especially with a new partner, but the hips, thighs, chest and around your lover's neck are perfectly acceptable. Put your hands where you wish, just be mindful of how your partner responds. They will let you know if any caress is unwanted." Balin allows him to sit. "Thorin, shall we begin by removing your tunic? I can begin on your chest."

Thorin nods his assent, tugging the fabric over his head and shoulders. The fire in the grate is warm, but he still feels chills of anticipation running down his spine. The tunic hits the floor and he suddenly feels exposed, is suddenly aware of his still developing chest and beard and everything else.

Balin joins him, although he picks up both of their tunics and folds them neatly, shaking his head with a chuckle. The older dwarf strokes Thorin's cheek and kisses him again and Thorin melts. Balin's lips are soft, but more chapped than the dwarf lasses he has kissed before. A hand slides from his shoulder and slides down his chest to his stomach, igniting fire wherever it touches.

He groans, deep in the back of this throat when Balin's mouth leaves his face to press kisses down his neck once more. "Balin." he gasps, whispers into the soft hair level with his chin, the brown already beginning to grey.

Balin presses his lips to Thorin's collarbone and his hand moves to rub a nipple, the pale hand a contrast to dark hair. Thorin finds himself gasping again, and then Balin's mouth moves to his nipple and sucks and he can't think clearly, hips stuttering and head slipping back.

Balin treats both individuals nubs to the same treatment with his lips and tongue. Clever fingers toying with the hair trailing from stomach to just below the breeches, slipping under the fabric and then back up, teasingly. He cannot help the smile that tugs at his lips when the young prince arches, losing control of his body. "Some dwarves like their chests played with, explore and find out what they like." he mumbles around one of those hardened nipples, tongue slurring his words.

Thorin is leant back now on his elbows, panting. "W-where would I go from here?" His quick tumbles with lasses went from kissing to between their legs and had differed little, both he and his partners young and inexperienced.

Balin releases his nipple and leans back, now kneeling on the floor in front of the bed, the prince's spread legs either side of his wider frame. The older dwarf slides his fingers along the waistline of his breeches, asking for permission. "If you would allow me, your majesty, I could show you how to use your mouth?"

Thorin is not completely naive, he has heard of this act, although he has never experienced it first-hand. He has heard speak of it from commoners in slang and course language, he has never considered trying it. The thought of Balin performing something so... dirty and forbidden has his face flushing. "Is that not inappropriate? I thought only commoners performed such acts?"

Balin laughs, throwing his head back, the sound throaty and cheerful without a hint of mocking. "Oh master Thorin, you have much to learn," he pats Thorin's knee reassuringly, "Most lords and those in the royal court don't like to talk about these acts, but I promise you, almost every one has experienced or performed them at one time or another. Dwarves in the lower circles are simply more open in their talk." He nuzzles the front of Thorin's breeches, licking over the cloth. "May I show you?"

The touch has him writhing, hands clutching at the fabric of the blanket underneath him. His body screams out for touch and he cannot deny it. "Please," he whimpers, and he is shocked at the pleading, almost broken flavour in his voice. It tastes forbidden and sacrilegious, weak and desperate, everything the Line of Durin should not be.

Balin does not question it, simply unknots the ties binding his breeches and slides them down his thighs. Thorin shifts, hips lifting, legs moving together and suddenly there's a thump at they hit the floor around his ankles. As with his tunic, Balin folds them and sets them aside, much too proper for his own good Thorin thinks with amused exasperation.

Thorin shudders, although not from the cold. He has not felt this exposed since his first hunt in Greenwood with his father. He knows he turns the heads of many dwarf lasses and even dwarf lads, even with his less-than-impressive beard, but Balin is a seasoned warrior and a learned dwarf and Thorin feels as though he can see more than just his skin. See his weakness and his ganglyness and everything that marks him as too young or too foolish and unlike his father and his grandfather and all those of Durin's Line before him.

Balin touches him and he cannot think, biting his lip as his hips move against his will. Balin is so, so very gentle and Thorin wonders why. Then he realises he's shaking, heart beating almost painfully within his chest. He's terrified and he doesn't know why.

"Thorin my lad, you don't have to do this, we can stop." Balin's tone is serious and cuts through the young prince like a knife through butter.

It hurts, both the fear and Balin's lack of belief in his abilities, in him. He makes a decision and wraps his hand around Balin's, tightening his grip. The fear begins to ebb as Balin smiles and nods, although his eyes still hold a twinkle of concern. His body loosens and he cries out when Balin moves his hand, his own falling to rest on the bed.

"Start by relaxing your partner, he should be confortable with what you are doing," Balin gives him a pointed look, his hand moving rhythmically, "be careful not to oversensitise him, every dwarf has a limit to his self-control!" Balin chortles and moves his hands to Thorin's thighs. Slowly, carefully, his mouth decends on the younger dwarf, taking in his length with a practised ease.

Thorin's eyes are blinded by white. He cannot move, cannot make a sound, suspended in a moment of stillness, encased in heat. And then Balin bobs and he cries out, the sound almost reverberating around the room. Balin holds him down as his back arches and his hips buck, the older dwarf's hands hot on his thighs.

Balin knows how to make a dwarf go wild, how to curl his tongue just so and how to relax his throat, swallowing the younger dwarf deep. He keeps his hands on Thorin's thighs and bobs, deep-throating him once more before sliding back up, teasing the head with the tip of his tongue. His throat will be sore later, but as he glances up, Thorin's expression makes it worth it. Head thrown back, the young prince's mouth is open in another cry, his eyes clenched shut in overwhelming pleasure.

Thorin groans, hips attempting to buck under Balin's strong grip. He forces his eyes open, he is suppossed to be learning afterall, and Balin's intense gaze has him gasping. As he watches the older dwarf slides down and does that swallowing thing again and Thorin can't breathe, he almost screams, head falling back and vision blurring. He feels a twinge in his stomach and he has to stave off his orgasm, biting his lip as Balin moans around him.

Slowly, Balin finishes, slipping off of Thorin's length with one last lick. He feels incredibly cruel. "The act takes a bit of practice to learn," his voice is choked, "Perhaps another time you can try it?" He stands, unfastening his own breeches.

Thorin stiffens, looking panicked, and he pauses. "Thorin my lad, I believe you are not ready for that act yet, we may try that some day, when you feel more ready. I will finish by showing you something you can do with no penetration of the mouth or buttocks." The older dwarf straddles the younger, pressing their hips together. "Ah, many dwarves, young and old, practice this act, it is seen as a way to touch without going against some of our beliefs."

Thorin is holding on by a thread and he grasps Balin's hips. His body is thrumming, desperate and Balin smiles, rocking forwards. Neither of them are slow this time, Thorin is too far gone and his mentor is quickly joining him. Hands slides and caress over skin and hair and Balin kisses him again, hot and wet and needy.

It takes little more stimulation before Thorin reaches his peak, another roll of hips, the slide of a tongue over his own and Balin's moans and he hisses, gasps and then releases a groan. Heat spreads through him, colours dance behind his eyelids and he's caught in the moment, mind blank. Eventually, his hips still and he lies exhausted beneath Balin, the sheets wet with perspiration.

Balin takes a little longer to follow and Thorin reaches down to caress him, fingers curling as he does on himself. The older dwarf's choked moan sends a tingle through his overstimulated body and he watches with desiring, sleepy eyes as Balin writhes, reaching his peak with harsh gasp and a bitten lip.

They lie on his bed for a long while, warm and sated and tired. Balin's head rests on his chest, his legs tangled with his own. Thorin smiles, "Thank you Mister Balin, that was most enlightening."

Balin chuckles into the dark curls surrounding a nipple, "Any time lad."

 

Fin.


	6. Fili/Bombur - Riding, Rough sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=8196163#t8196163
> 
> _I just need to read Fíli riding that fat cock and Bombur's fat arms grabbing Fíli's thin hips, pushing him down hard against his cock to impale him further._
> 
> _OR_
> 
> _Bombur eating something delicious off of Fíli's body, licking him clean and then fucking him while Fíli is on all fours_

Fili groans as Bombur pushes his three fingers deep inside of him once more, rough and slick and stretching him well. Not deep enough though, not deep enough to hit that magic spot, to make him scream. “Ah, Bombur... please!” he whines, panting as a tongue slicks up his neck, the fingers twisting within him.

The larger dwarf chuckles against his skin, pulling his fingers out and gripping his thighs. “Ready lad?” he asks, tone husky with need and Fili grins, cheeks flushing as he nods eagerly. He lines himself up with the thick cock below him, his own pressed against the soft warmth of Bombur’s belly, and he lowers himself.

Fili throws his head back with a moan as he’s filled completely, Bombur hilted within him. There is nothing like this stretch, the feeling of being filled, the hands gripping him. Bombur groans and he cannot help himself, he jerks up on his knees and slams himself down again, hitting that spot and crying out again. He does it again and again and again and stars dance behind his eyelids as pleasure twists in his lower belly.

Bombur grunts, grabbing Fili’s thin hips with his thick, calloused fingers desperately. The larger dwarf wrenches him down roughly, stabbing up into his magic spot and Fili writhes in his grip, catching Bombur’s lips in a brief, but bruising kiss. Bombur continues manipulating his hips with a practiced ease and soon Fili is whimpering mess, eyes clenching every time the older dwarf hits his sweet spot and opening again as he slides out, eyes glazed over with pleasure and the anticipation of the next thrust.

Fili gasps as Bombur impales him once more and he twists his hips, grinding down and he’s delighted at the larger dwarf’s choked moan and the plump fingers gripping him even harder, those squishy thighs and hips pounding into him. The pleasure is overwhelming, he can barely think, his vision is blurring and his cock is twitching. He’s close and the heat and sharp tingles just keep building, wracking his body with shudders.

Bombur releases one of his thighs, dragging him down into a kiss and Fili cries into the older dwarf’s hot, hungry mouth as he comes, slick heat coating the soft belly pressed against him. Bombur is not far behind, groaning as he thrusts up one more time, holding Fili, impaled, on his thick cock as he twitches in release.

Fili moans low in the back of his throat as he’s filled with slick heat, body still trembling in aftershocks. His hands grip Bombur’s shoulders and he pants, kissing the other fiercely. He loves being filled, loves being pressed into someone so much larger.

Bombur kisses him back, one of his hands stroking through his sweat-slicked hair. A hand still holds one of Fili’s hips possessively, even as he slowly pulls out. “Ah Lad, you taste so good, feel so good around me.” Bombur breathes into his lips, tongue slipping out to swipe the younger’s lip.

Fili gasps as the cold air cools the seed seeping from his entrance and he hisses with pleasure as it slicks a path down his inner thigh; he loves being filled with Bombur’s release. “Same time tomorrow night Mr Bombur, Sir? He grins, wrapping his legs around the other’s waist, fiddling with the thick plaited beard.

Bombur chuckles, sliding hands down Fili’s back to his arse. “It would be my pleasure lad.” He gropes the younger dwarf and Fili wishes they didn’t have to return to the company, Bombur is just so very skilful with those thick fingers and cock of his. And that devouring mouth.

End.


	7. Dori/Orcs, Ori - Non-con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5483841#t5483841  
>  _A group of orcs or goblins capture Dori and Ori while they travel to meet up with Nori before heading to Bilbo's house and they plan to rape the youngest but Dori, proper and ashamed as he is, offers himself instead to spare his younger brother._
> 
> _a+ if he ends up liking it and a++ if, to his horror, the orcs notice he's well-used down there. Ori can watch or be send away._

**Warnings:** Non-con, gangbang, size difference, unwanted arousal, involuntary voyeurism, groping, double penetration (spitroast), double penetration (anally), angst, me switching between tenses like an illiterate fool, violence, minor characters deaths, happy-ish ending (you know, rescue via orc genocide and more angst sorry.

 

Ori clutched his slingshot with white-knuckled fingers, eyes wide with fear. He’d seen orcs before, at long distances and in books. Never close, never leering down at him in a circle. Dori has shoved him back, but it's difficult to hide behind your big brother when there are enemies behind you.

They had been well on their way to meet Nori in Bree when they had been ambushed. The South Downs were too exposed for Dori's liking, the clumps of trees few and far between. They had had no place to hide, or to run to when the orcs saw them. Terrified, their horses had thrown them and before they had even managed to stand, they had been surrounded.

The orcs are laughing and a large, heavily scarred individual who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. "Well, look what we found lads, a couple of dwarf-scum roamin' the hills." He fingered a long, sharp knife. "Shall we make sport of 'em?"Cheers of encouragement rang out from the circle.

A smaller orc to his left spoke up, "What sort of sport? I rather fancy the shorter one, we 'avent had any human whores in a while." He sends Ori a lecherous glance, eyes alight with hunger.

Ori whimpers, clutching the back of his brother's cloak in fear. He's young, but not young enough as to misunderstand the orcs' words. The jeers and lewd suggestions that ring out around the circle make his skin crawl, face warring between heating in embarrassment and paling in horror.

An orc wearing a necklace of man’s teeth prodded Ori’s shoulder, “’E looks like a virgin lass to me, look at ‘em braids, is ‘e not a wench?”

The leader said nothing for a moment, staring at the dwarves. The little one was oddly comely for a dwarf, eyes wide and innocent, body thinner and more delicate than the other. "I say we play with the little one, and then tickle the big one with our knives. What do yer say lads?" He waved his knife threateningly in Dori's direction, grinning.

Dori growled in response, grabbing his free arm around Ori. His other hand brandished his sword at the orc leader's chest. "You will have neither of us, miserable rat! There will be a search party out for us soon and I doubt they'll halt before beheading the lot of you!"

The party of orcs hardly needed to know how unlikely it was that Nori would send a search party (he was not the most popular dwarf in Bree, and the less said of that the better). And they did not need to know that a search party would hardly reach them before they killed both dwarves.

The troupe of orcs looked concerned for a moment, sharing wary glances over the dwarves' heads. Then the leader roared with laughter. He shoved his knife at Dori's throat, the blade poking through his beard. "We will have 'ad the little one and have run you through long before they even reach these hills. What do you say to that, o' clever dwarf?!"

Dori glared in fury, but terror tickled the back of his mind. Whether Nori sent a search party or came looking himself, what the orc said was true. Ori was so young.... His inner thoughts were interrupted by a sudden cry from Ori and he jerked around.

Ori yelped and cried out his brother's name as a larger orc, taller than even their leader, grabbed him from behind and wrenched him backwards. "Dori, help!"

Dori ignored the knife at this throat, earning himself a nasty nick as he lurched after his brother, grabbing Ori's hand. "Let go of my brother, you swine!" The orc leader caught him from behind and bent his wrist back, causing him to drop his sword with a grunt of pain. He was dragged back against the taller creature's chest, the knife once again at his throat.

Dori snarled and struggled, cursing, spitting and kicking like a wild thing. He stilled as the orc holding Ori held a knife against the younger dwarf's neck, the slingshot trampled into the grass. Ori's eyes widened in terror and he caught Dori's gaze, eyes pleading.

"Let him go! Do not hurt him!" Dori shouted, tone changing from gruff anger to desperate pleading as the knife cut into a few strands of hair on his brother's neck. The orcs around the circle laughed, jeering and taunting him.

The leader chuckled darkly, knife pressing ever harder into Dori's throat, "And what dwarf, can you offer us in exchange for leaving him-" he growled, "untouched?"

Dori felt his stomach twist in a combination of shame and anger. "I will take his place, you may do whatever you wish to do to him to me. If he is left alone I will not fight you." He grits out the words, hating them even as his mind thinks them. He can feel the blood from the cut on his neck slip down the front of his tunic, congealing against his skin. He has to protect Ori.

"Oh? And what could you ever offer us, you are hardly as comely as the whelp?" The leader asks, mockingly. Dori can feel the way his arms tighten around his smaller frame however, the way his hips shift against his backside, as though curious.

"I can... I can make it worthy of your time. My brother is likely to fall into darkness long before you are satisfied." A matter he does not want to consider, but must. Ori is young and a virgin, he would not be able to withstand the torture. Dori prays they take the bait. He knows he's not attractive by their standards. Orcs are like men is most regards; soft-hairless skin, shapely faces and slim bodies are what they desire and Dori is none of these things. His brother is only slightly less dwarvish in appearance and that is only due to his youth.

The orc twists him around and Dori only has a moment to feel a new wave of anger and humiliation at being manhandled like a child before he's dragged up to meet face to face with the foul creature. "So dwarf, you think you can satisfy us all? Are you a dwarvish-scum whore? Alright, we'll take you in his stead, but if you fail to satisfy us, we will take your little brother after all."

Dori finds himself unceremoniously thrown to the ground, grunting as his face bashes into the hard tufts of grass. A booted-foot lands on his back none-too-gently and he makes another pained noise when it digs into his spine. "Don't try to run dwarf-scum or we'll kill him." He waits for the orc to release his back before he gets to his knees.

The orc holding Ori sits down, securing the younger dwarf's hands behind his back. Dori looks up to see Ori's wide and horrified eyes and he tries to give him a reassuring nod, but he doubts it looks even vaguely sincere. Dori flinches when the orc leader grips the back of his head, fingers tangling in the hair, keeping him still.

"Alright, who gets to go first? You will all get a turn mind, but no fighting or quarrelin' or you won't get nothin'!" The Leader regards the group of nine orcs with consideration. He points at an orc, a short, squat creature wielding a shoddy bow and a rough quiver of arrows. "You, Snaga, you shot at the horses and scared 'em off? You helped catch 'em so you can have a go first."

The shorter individual grins and shuffles forwards, hands grabbing Dori possessively. The dwarf finds himself on his stomach and he shudders as the creature tugs down his breeches. He expects the agonising ripping of dry penetration and braces himself. For Ori, he can withstand anything for Ori. To his surprise, he hears the orc spit and the press of wet fingers is a marginal relief.

"He's tight, but he's no virgin. Oi, look, I can see scratches around here, he's had plenty of practice!" The orc points to scratches on his hips, and a few scars he has from some overzealous past lovers. Dori flushes from head to toe in humiliation and he grits out a curse as the orcs laugh around him and those fingers stab farther inside.

Dori whines when the orc twists his fingers and he hears it growl hungrily. It withdraws the two fingers slowly and spits again. Dori tries to relax himself, hands fisting grass below him and he grunts as the orc pushes in. It stings a little, the stretch creating an ache, but it is no more painful than with a rough dwarven partner.

Dori clenches his eyes shut as his hips are gripped and jeers are shouted from the sidelines. He doesn't want to see them and he doesn't want to see Ori. The first thrust is still a shock and he yelps before biting his lip. The orc thrusts, shallowly, inexperienced, but needy. Like an animal. And like an animal he doesn’t last long either, gripping his hips and growling out his release.

Dori grunts as the orc pulls out and the orc leader directs two more of the group towards him. They kneel down, one with his cock held at his lips, the other prizing his thighs apart, thumbing over his slicked opening with a hungry growl. Dori opens his mouth, not desiring a broken jaw, and the orc pushes his length inside. Dori chokes around him, it has been a while for him and he is out of practice. The orc moans in appreciation and holds his jaw and chin with a rough grip, thrusting into the wet heat.

His partner grins, unseen by Dori who cannot move his head, and he slides into Dori’s opening with a grunt. “Oh Puglash, he’s much smaller than a snaga, so tight!” The orc’s hands palm the dwarf’s fluffy thighs and his clawed fingers dig into the flesh as he thrusts deeper, hilting himself within Dori.

Puglash chuckles, eyes glazed in delight. The dwarf has stopped choking now and the sight of those plump lips framed by white hair wrapped around him makes him groan. He draws back and allows the dwarf to swallow and breathe easy before he pushes back inside. The dwarf struggles a little and grumbles and the orc hisses in pleasure, holding the smaller being’s head still with both hands as he thrusts deeper.

Dori growls around the cock in his mouth, throat already feeling raw from the rough treatment. He wishes he could use his hands to at least slow the orc’s harsh rocking, but if he moves his arms he will fall flat on his face. He is distracted suddenly by a sharp spark of pleasure shooting up his spine as the orc behind him delivers a deep, urgent thrust, hitting his sweet spot. He grunts and his hips shudder as that spot is hit again and again and soon he’s moaning around the other’s length in need.

Ori is sure his face must be blood-red by now; his cheeks feel so hot with shame and embarrassed horror. He tries to turn his face away and close his eyes as the orcs grab Dori and take his body roughly but the orc holding him curls a clawed hand around his chin and hisses in his ear that he will watch or he might feel the orc’s knife before they are through with his brother. Ori goes ridged, breath hitching as he turns back to watch an orc push himself inside Dori’s body and another into his older brother’s mouth. Dori’s eyes are clenched shut and Ori bites his lip, horrified.

And then Dori groans in pleasure and Ori’s even more horrified by the way heat curls in his belly and his thighs clench together tightly. The orc behind him seems to realise and Ori’s eyes widen as he feels fingers sliding over his thighs, slipping just under where his length is straining inside of his breeches. A mouth chuckles into his ear and Ori shivers, body torn between arousal and disgust and fear.

“Tis a right pity I cannot take you little one, your body is so ready for it.” The orc’s whisper is cracked and choked with need and his hands remain on the young dwarf’s thighs, although they make no more movements.

Dori swirls his tongue and his mouth is suddenly full of the bitter salt of the orc’s release. He moans, mouth full, as the orc behind him continues, hitting his sweet spot and he comes with a grunt, swallowing, clenching around the orc within him.

The second orc comes into the clenching heat with a yell, claws leaving scratches in Dori’s thighs. He withdraws after a moment of panting and gives the dwarf a short smack of his rear. “Well now dwarf, you take it much better than a man or man whore, much tighter too.”

Dori huffs, a trail of seed slipping down the corner of his mouth to his chin. “Aye, that true lad? Well I gather you haven’t had many, eh?” His thighs are shaking, his opening and throat feeling sore and stinging a little.

The orc glares, cuffing the dwarf around the head, “Hold yer tongue, I’ve had plenty, you’re just weak and small.” He sneers and looks like he wants to whack the dwarf again, but the Leader barks an order at him and he moves away. 

Two more orcs are sent forwards and the taller says something in Black speech, laughing darkly. His partner nods and grabs Dori, hoisting him up. The dwarf only just manages to stop himself from lashing out, giving a yelp as he’s dragged up. The taller orc reaches out his hand and slides it between Dori’s legs, slipping under his cock and testicles, finger slipping into the slicked hole with ease. This seems to please the creature and Dori grits his teeth with a gasp as the orc slides three fingers inside him, testing the stretch.

The shorter orc holding him grumbles, “Hurry up Skuk’Ag, I want a turn with this runt before the day wears on!” He rocks against Dori’s behind, hard length sliding up the dwarf’s lower back.

“Give us a chance Orgek! Now, you slip in first and I’ll squeeze in after ya, let’s see if he squeals!” Skuk’Ag takes the shorter orc in hand and slips his cock into the Dwarf’s opening. It slides in without too much trouble, the dwarf being stretched roughly and all, and he takes a hold of one of Dori’s thighs, using his free hand to guide himself in alongside the other orc.

Dori almost squeals, mouth opening with a choked cry as the taller orc pushes his way inside; stretching him beyond what he believes is possible. He feels like he will be split in two, back arching and eyes clenching shut as he cries. Bitter tears of pain slip down his cheeks and he shakes like a leaf in the cold autumn wind. They only spare him a moments rest before beginning to thrust and he sobs, unable to move as they hold him firmly between them.

Ori feels his jaw drop, his mouth falling open and he feels his gut clench. Dori sounds so pained, and he’s crying. Why do they have to hurt his brother so? It’s just not fair or just or right or anything of the sort. He realises with a sickening jolt that this is what those two orcs had wanted to do to him, would have done to him if Dori hadn’t offered himself. Shame and guilt fill him and he sniffles, tears slipping out.

Dori grunts and tries to relax. The pain has lessened now, his insides stretching, loosening. It still hurts, but not in the agonising manner it had before. The wetness of the orc seed within him eases the penetration and he feels a thrum of pleasure through the sting as one of the orcs hits his sweet spot. The other orc’s length pushes the tip of the first orc’s cock into his sweet spot again and again and soon he’s gasping and moaning again, unable to stifle his cries. It’s too deep and too hard and overwhelming on so many levels.

The orcs seemed to be spurred on by his cries and they increase their pace, the one holding him nipping the back of his neck, growling in pleasure. The taller orc, Skuk-something, pants against him, grunting as he hoists Doris thighs ever higher, angling his hips for the deepest penetration. Dori whines, hands gripping the orc’s shoulders, hips jerking in response to the onslaught of pleasure-pain.

The orc holding him jerks with a muttered curse, filling Dori’s abused opening with his release. Dori lasts only a few moments longer, Skuk-orc pounding into his sweet spot furiously, and he writhes with a groan, coming once more. The orc holds him still, impaled on both of the orcs cocks, as he comes. Dori can feel the wet heat dripping out of his stretched opening and he shudders to think of what he will feel like when the other five orcs have finished with him.

He’s set on the ground again and his legs give out and he tries to slide to his knees gracefully, without revealing just how exhausted and spent he truly is. The orcs around him are shifting restlessly, obviously desperate for a turn and Dori glances over to check on his brother starts as their eyes meet. Ori looks terrified and embarrassed and Dori tries to give him a reassuring look and a nod.

The leader silences the group with a swift slashing movement by his hand. He surveys the group. “I think it’s my turn, I’ve led you here after all. And you, Nragog, you can take your turn now. Now if any of the rest of yer try to make a fuss I’ll have the lot of yo-ughk!” The leader gargles and falls to the ground, an arrow shot straight through his throat.

The orcs leap to their feet, weapons drawing. Just a moment to late as more arrows rain down, hitting at least five more of the hideous beasts. The rest flee, seeing the group of twenty horse-riding men racing towards them. Ten of the riders continue after the fleeing orcs and the rest surround the two dwarves and the dying bodies of the orc troupe.

Dori hitches up his breeches and manages to struggle the ties together. He moves to shield Ori, grabbing his dropped sword. The men halt their horses and Dori keeps his weapon held defensively, head throbbing and body aching.

“Brothers, are you alright? I feared you dead.” Nori slides off his pony and rushes towards them with an almost out-of-character display of concern. He slides an arm around Dori’s shoulders and helps him to his feet, the older dwarf’s body trembling and knees almost giving out once more.

 

..

 

Later, as they sit in a pokey little room in a Bree inn, Ori snoozes in one of the beds and Nori paces in silent anger. Dori patches the scratches on his arms and washes himself from a jug of warmed water with a rough cloth. His breeches are foul and he throws them on the fire, thankful he thought to bring spares.

“How could you be so reckless Dori? Why would you agree to whore yourself for them? You are not a young dwarf anymore.” Nori hisses angrily, turning to glare down at him, more concerned than turelly angry.

Dori sighs before returning the glare, face tight with irritation and shame. “They planned to take Ori against his will. I offered to protect him.”

Nori’s face softens and he sits beside Dori, pressing a hand to his shoulder in understanding. “I am sorry I was not there.”

They turn and look at their sleeping baby brother and count their blessings. They are all alive and Ori is still young enough to overcome this horrifying ordeal.

 

_End._


	8. Bombur/Bofur - Half-asleep Frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9272853#t9272853
> 
> _Bofur is on the edge of sleep, curled against his brothers lage belly. It's so soft and warm, and he ends up with his cock erect in no time. Not really aware that he is doing it he ends up rutting his hard memeber against that wonderfull soft warmth._
> 
> _Bombur is very surprised, but he does not try to stop Bofur, and if he is honest, he enjoy it way more then he should._

**Trigger Warnings** : Incest, half-asleep sex, frot, Bombur is fully awake, Bofur is not.

 

It is a cold night, the air bitter and the wind bitingly sharp. The bedrolls are thick, but not enough to shield them fully from the cold. Bofur shivers and shuffles, squirming in his blankets, to press up against Bombur, who is dozing, breathe heavy with exhaustion.

Bombur is soft and Bofur shifts sleepily in a sleepy daze to get comfortable, struggling slightly out of his blanket cocoon and allowing himself to snuggle into Bombur’s belly. He rests his head on the thick braid, which acts like a pillow, pressed near his brother’s sleeping face on the ground. Bofur feels himself yawn and he relaxes, breathing in the smell of his younger brother; the musky scent in his hair, a combination of a little sweat, the herbs he used in that night’s stew, and then under that, Bombur’s own scent.

The smell entices him to shift closer, and one of his legs curves around Bombur’s hip unconsciously. This presses his hips flush against Bombur’s belly and the warm softness pressing into him sends a lick of heat through us groin, stoking a fire in his own belly.

Not even thinking, barely conscious of his actions in fact, Bofur rocks into that softness, feeling it give under his hardening cock. It feels somewhat like rutting against a cushion, as he had done as a tween, before reaching full maturity. Except that this is firmer, has more substance and much, much warmer.

Low moans escape his lips, shoulders and back arching and he nuzzles into the warm, furry cheek in front of him, slipping down until he’s moaning and gasping into a neck. His pace increases, although remains the sloppy, unconscious thrusts of sleep. He’s almost asleep, far from awake, and he’s thinking in a rather abstract manner, just aware of warmth and softness and the delightful heat of pleasure.

Bombur is awoken by a moan, a wet mouth pressed into his neck and something firm rubbing against his stomach rhythmically. His snores cease with a snort and his eyes slip open, glazed with sleep. For a moment he wonders what is going on, where he is, who he is pressed against. His eyes flick down and even in the dark he can make out the outlines of his older brother’s hat. He gasps, even as the hips rock into his even harder and Bofur’s mouth whimpers into his beard.

He knows he should wake his brother, pull away. No doubt Bofur is dreaming of some beautiful dwarven lass, with comely hips and a carefully braided beard. Bombur grunts and moans as his brother suckles on his neck, his hips shifting in his sleep and hitting lower on his belly, inadvertently rubbing his brother’s length.

Bombur moves a hand, intent of gently moving Bofur away, or shaking him awake, but he ends up sliding a hand to ever-so-gently grip his leg. He flushes in shame as he angles his brother so that their lengths touch when he thrusts. It feels heavenly, sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through him whenever their hips meet. He bites a mouthful of his beard-braid, intent on keeping quiet, although muffled moans and cries are still audible.

Bofur is nearing his peak, all warm and cosy and feeling wonderful. He laps at the salty skin under his tongue and continues to rut, heat and tingles dancing in his hips and belly. He gasps and groans low, back arching as he comes, his cheeks flushing hot and body aflame, filled with overwhelming pleasure. As the sensation fades his rutting slows until he is simply cuddled up against his brother, shaking with the aftershocks and mind finally at rest, a snore escaping his throat.

Bombur winces around the hair gagging him, hips jerking erratically as he joins his brother in release. His vision is blinded by white and he swears he sees stars behind his eyelids more bright than those overhead. Slick heat stains his breeches and he pants, body shuddering as the feelings ebb, tingles still curling through his groin.

He looks down at his brother and feels his cheeks heat once more in shame. At least they would both be dry by the time morning comes and Bofur would not ask questions. This was certainly not a proper... or possibly even lawful, act to perform with one’s own brother.

But Mahal be damned if he didn’t want to do so again.


	9. Dwalin/Balin - Belly!Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=4908098#t4908098
> 
> _So......umm. I can't belive I'm prompting this, but I can't pretend that I don't want this!_
> 
> _Dwalin like that Balin is a little wider these days. If he is honest with himself he can't stop thinking about asking his brother to bed, just so he can take a closer look._
> 
> _I just want Balin on his back with Dwalin leaning over him and kissing his chest and belly!_
> 
> _And now you have to exuse me, I have a bus to special hell to catch! I travel with a "dyingOfEmbarrassment" ticket!_

**Warnings:** Incest (established relationship), size difference, dirty talk, belly!worship, chubby kink, frot, cuddling, ridiculous fluff

 

Balin is fiddling around in the pantry, shuffling empty, but clean jars and trays back into place on the shelves. It’s late and the rest of the company are either asleep or finding somewhere to doze. In all honesty, he knows he should be sleeping; they have an early start when the morning comes, but he does not find himself tired.

The unmistakable footsteps of his brother come from the hall, the distinct plod of heavy footfalls loud in the quiet of the night. He turns to see Dwalin leaning against the doorway, oddly round as is the fashion in this hobbit’s home.

A smirk pulls at his brother’s lip and Balin would be a fool to not see the glint in his eyes. It has been a long time since last those eyes bore into his with such heat and devious promise. He shivers and sends his brother a smirk of his own, deliberately turning his back to neaten a stack of plates.

He hears the shift of fur and leather and the clink of metal as his brother moves and then the sharp creak of the door as it is wrenched shut. Balin chuckles to himself, his brother never was the quietest of dwarves. It’s one of those traits he loves about him.

Dwalin crosses the room and Balin feels heat flare within as the younger dwarf’s hands move to rest on his hips possessively. Calloused fingers and leather press into the skin through his tunic and Balin groans in encouragement. It has been too long. A mouth presses to the side of his neck, kissing a line to his ear.

“I want you.” Dwalin murmurs into his ear, never one to mince words and dance around a subject. His hands slide to curl around his stomach, hands caressing the softer expanse of his belly. “You’re truly wider than last we met, I like it.”

Balin presses his hands to his brother’s, shivers of desire slipping down his spine. The skin beneath those hands feels aflame and he leans back, their bodies flush to one another. “Is that so brother? What is it that you wish of me then?” Oh, he knows what the younger dwarf wants mind, he just loves how rough Dwalin’s voice becomes when he tells him.

Dwalin moans, hands tightening their hold, wrenching Balin back against him. “I would have you on this floor, pressed into my coat, your body bare and wanting. I would have you scream my name loud enough to wake this entire hobbit village.”

Balin groans in response; both aroused and amused at this brother’s promise. He cannot imagine the hobbits being pleased to be awoken so late at night, and if they did indeed come to complain their little burglar would surely be flustered out of his wits. Dwalin spins him around and Balin gasps as a mouth descends upon his own, desperate and hungry.

Dwalin deepens the kiss, tongue slipping in to explore his brother’s familiar taste and feel. He withdraws his hands from Balin’s hips reluctantly and moves them to shuck his cloak off. He refuses to break the kiss, feeling the fabric pool around his ankles and he cups his older brother’s face, Balin’s hands twining around his shoulders.

Balin grips his brother’s rough tunic as their tongues fight for dominance. He has missed this, missed his brother’s touch, the hands that know him better than any other. They know how to trace and map his body, the right pressure and motion to perform in his most sensitive places.

He makes a low sound in his throat as Dwalin’s hands move to fumble with the clasp of his belt and soon it slides to the ground, the buckle hitting the stone floor with a dull clink. The buttons and clasps of him tunic are next to fall victim to his brother’s rough fingers and Balin as the heavy fabric  
slips from his shoulder and arms, leaving him in a thin undershirt and his breeches. Not to be out done, he reaches for Dwalin’s belt and soon enough they are both suitably undressed, clothing littering the floor like debris after a storm.

“Brother I need you, get on your back.” Dwalin is nothing but direct, his voice deep and husky with desire. He grips Balin and pushes him down to his knees, firmly but not forcefully. Balin does not resist his brother and when Dwalin’s cloak and Balin’s own coat are spread out on the floor, he lies back without a protest.

Dwalin is on his knees in a moment, eyes bright and eager. Balin smiles, his brother has not changed since he was a young warrior, newly of age and smitten with his elder brother. Balin had denied him at first, gently, for he thought the attraction simply a passing fancy of youth. He had not wanted to rob Dwalin of his first kiss, his first conquest in bed, his heart.

Dwalin, being a stubborn dwarf, had not let Balin’s soft refusal stand between them, and he had begun to court his elder brother. Balin still remembered the awkward offers of braiding and the crafted flint box bearing the runes of his name. And their first kiss, when even he had tired of his pretence of disinterest and had pushed Dwalin up against a wall, claiming his lips fiercely.

He is brought back to the present with a shudder as Dwalin runs his tongue up his neck, and his hand down from his collarbone to his navel in a slow caress. “So soft,” Dwalin whispers below his ear and his hands knead Balin’s round belly with rough fingertips. Their lips meet again as Dwalin straddles his legs and his palms run from navel back to his furry chest and back down again, as though mapping the area for an invasion.

Dwalin draws back, thighs meeting the back of his shins as he sits back, eyes alight with hunger as he takes in the flushed form of his brother, naked against the furs that usually cover his broad shoulders. Balin had always been a handsome dwarf, broad and strong with a long, full beard. And as a skilled warrior, he had attracted many suitors. He was lucky that Balin had chosen him.

He was still a handsome dwarf, although his hair has greyed into white and he has gotten wider, less active than when he was a warrior. The softness is foreign under his hands, his chest and stomach are pure muscle and he delights in the give of Balin’s belly, fingers sliding over the skin. Dwalin groans as he takes his brother’s nipple in his mouth, feeling it harden under the caress of his tongue.

Balin murmurs in pleasure, one hand tangling in his brother’s dark mane, the other gripping the fabric under him, his hips arching in need. Dwalin sucks hard on the nub, once, twice, thrice and his older brother finds himself a groaning mess, eyes clenching shut and hips stuttering, knees knocking against Dwalin’s waist.

Dwalin shifts to his second nipple, treating it to the same hungry suckles. His fingers tweak the abandoned nub, liquid cooling over the skin and sending shudders down Balin’s spine. His older brother moans, body thrumming with heat, and his fingers scrabble over Dwalin’s broad shoulders, groping the hard muscle desperately.

Dwalin licks a trail through the forest of white curls adorning his brother’s chest, thumbs swiping over the hardened nipples as his mouth moves lower. He moans into the skin, kissing and licking down to the rounded belly, hands sliding to join his mouth, gripping the flesh either side. His brother grunts and rocks his hips and Dwalin kisses the navel, tongue sliding along the underside of that rounded stomach, tasting musk and revelling in the creamy texture.

Balin wonders if his brother aims to kiss and suckle every inch of his chest and belly, it seems as though he inspires to do so, his mouth diligent and needy. The older dwarf squirms as his brother’s thick fingers rub down his belly, brushing the head of his hard length. “Ah! Dwalin please, it has been too long, I need you.” He groans; his body aflame.

Dwalin takes pity on his elder brother, hauling himself up until their hips join, Balin’s head pressed to his chest. Balin’s legs wrap around his waist and Dwalin rocks his hips. He grunts, panting as they rut, aware of the soft stomach pressing into his, like a warm cushion. He grips the fabric under them, hot pleasure pulsing through his body and he groans as he comes, rocking against his brother.

Balin grips his brother’s thighs, back arching as he joins him in release, a strangled cry escaping him as the pleasure reaches its peak. He shudders and gasps into the afterglow, body exhausted and pleasantly sated. He smiles sleepily as Dwalin rolls to the side and pulls him into an embrace. Balin tugs his coat over them both and snuggles into his brother’s chest. He has missed this, so much.

Dwalin holds his brother, eyes slipping closed as their breathing evens out. The sounds of the hobbit hole are limited to the muffled snores of eleven other dwarves and one hobbit. It’s peaceful and they both slip into dreams, warm in each other’s arms.

Fin.


	10. Fili/Mirkwood flora, Fili/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9645333#t9645333
> 
> _Summary of long prompt; Fili finds a strange plant whilst scouting ahead in Mirkwood. Plant promptly grabs him, strips him, drugs him and has its way with him. Bofur finds him still drugged and gets him off... or they get off. It's complicated._

**Warnings** : Plant-tentacle porn, dub-con, sex pollen, bondage, fluff

 

Fili prodded the large leaf covered in spherical flowers. He had never seen such a plant before, a set of large, green, pointed leaves rising high above his head, twined together tightly like a bud before it bloomed. He could not hear the other dwarves yet, but as he was not far off the path he did not fret.

He was just tracing the petal of one of the odd blue flowers when the leaves split. He had hardly a moment to step back in wonder before a vine slid out from inside the plant and grabbed his waist, hoisting him up into the air. He yelped and struggled, kicking out and pulling at the tentacle, desperate to free himself.

More vines shot out, grabbing his arms, his ankles and sliding under clothing, the tips of the vines strangely dexterous, popping through his belt and tugging open clasps and laces. He cursed as his clothing was pulled and wriggled off; first his boots, his breeches and his outer tunic and then his undergarments, until he was naked.

Fili wished to open his mouth to cry for help but feared the company seeing him in this predicament. He was a warrior, not a plant’s play thing! Before he can yell a vine, thicker than the others, forces its way past his lips and a trickle of liquid, sweet like honey, fills his mouth and slips down his throat. He chokes and tries to pull away; fearing poison, but his body soon feels limp and tingly.

The vines cause pleasure wherever they touch, sliding and rubbing over his skin. The one in his mouth caresses his tongue before slipping out and he moans at the loss. It slides between his legs and rubs against his entrance, the wetness making him whimper. Smaller vines curl around his nipples and gently squeeze and tug, sending shivers down his spine and moans out his mouth.

He rocks as more of the small vines slick themselves with the fluid of the large one at his rear and begin to prod and slip inside of his opening, stretching him like fingers. It feels strange, but also good, his mind hazy and his body warm. He wails as a vine slides around his length, stroking carefully and rubbing its soft leaves against the head.

The young dwarf throws his head back with a gasp as the small vines slip from within him and the large, wet and dripping head of the thick vine takes their place, pushing inwards, stretching him. His toes curl as it jerks suddenly, hitting a spot buried inside which causes pleasure to spark through his entire body and he cries out, braids trembling as though in a breeze.

...

Thorin had stopped the company, inspecting for any problems, when he noticed Fili’s absence. He worries, remembering how they were told not to leave the path for any reason and Kili and Fili could be very curious as times.

“Bofur, would you find young Fili? We shall camp here tonight.” Thorin turns to the cheerful dwarf with a nod. He has already put down his pack and is free to lend a hand.

“Of course, I’ll head up the path and bring ‘im back, don’t you worry Mr Thorin.” And Bofur continued up the dark path, looking for the young dwarf.

He heard a cry and recognised Fili’s voice. In only a moment he held his weapon in hand and he hurried towards the noise. He was not prepared for the sight he found behind a thick clump of trees. Fili was suspended several feet off of the ground, his wrists and ankles held tight by vines. They spread his legs and more still caressed young his body; his chest, his length and a large vine was pounding into his body like no tomorrow.

Bofur felt himself stiffen in arousal as Fili threw his head back and groaned. He had always thought the lad handsome, but had known his chances slim what with him being a simple miner and all. Fili’s hips were jerking erratically, his body flushed with pleasure. Bofur pressed him palm into the bulge in his breeches, fondling himself through the cloth.

Fili was crying out continuously now, the pleasure was overwhelming. The vine hit that sweet spot on every inward thrust and the one at his cock matched the rhythm, pumping hard. He felt his stomach tighten and he gave a choked cry as he came, the vine inside of him drawing out his orgasm as it pounded in a few more times, before spurting a strange fluid inside of him.

He shook as the aftershocks of his orgasm wore down and he found himself limp as the vines brought him down to the ground, although they did not release him. He looked up blearily to see Bofur watching, red-faced with his hand inside his breeches. His body thrummed with need all over again, the plant’s juice causing heat to flare up once more. “Oh, Mr Bofur, I need you, please!”

Bofur approached, “are you alright lad?” He needed to know, his concern was stronger than his loins.

Fili smiled lazily, hips rocking in need. “I’m alright, I just need you, now, inside me please!”

Bofur wondered if anyone could resist those hungry eyes and that trembling lip. He could not. Gripping the younger dwarf’s thighs, he slid into the slicked opening, this thick length slipping deep inside. Fili cried out and begged again and Bofur acquiesced, thrusting hard and fast.

Fili moaned again, even as the vines began to play with his nipples and cock once more, tweaking and rubbing as he was taken. Bofur smiled down at him lovingly and Fili felt, even though his addled mind, that he really was a charming dwarf. He would love to court him. He arched his back as his second orgasm drew close and Bofur groaned above him, leaning down to claim his lips.

They came near simultaneously, bodies rocking and mouths muffling both of their moans. Fili slumped into the hold of the vines, body finally sated and filled with delicious warmth. Bofur panted above him, reaching down to stroke Fili’s cheek. “You’re beautiful lad, wish I could keep you.”

The vines shifted him upwards and left him near teetering in his feet. He drew Bofur down for another kiss. “You’ve already got me.” He whispered against the other’s lips.

Fin.


	11. Bilbo/Dwalin - Finger Sucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9404181#t9404181
> 
> _So I've been looking at this picture a lot:_
> 
> _http://i.imgur.com/dwFVwMq.jpg_
> 
> _I would now really like something with Bilbo sucking on Dwalin's big fingers. And if this leads on to cocksucking, fingering or fucking, well that's just a bonus, isn't it?_

(In an alternate universe where Dwalin remains the first at the scene longer and begins raiding Bilbo’s pantry before Balin arrives. Oh, and demonstrates what ‘at your service’ really means. Whilst writing this, I discovered I can do a reasonably good imitation of Dwalin’s voice. I have no idea what to do with this discovery.)

 

**Warnings:** Starts out dub-con, finger-sucking, size-difference, fingering, anal

 

Dwalin does nothing to disguise his glances and stares at the hobbit. The creature seems unreasonably unnerved at his presence; one moment tailing him around the tiny hole and hovering awkwardly to his side or behind, the next he is creeping away and hiding like a frightened mouse. Surely he knew of this meeting? Perhaps these small creatures were simply fickle and bizarre by nature.

This hobbit can certainly cook well enough; the fish is nicely seasoned and is far from raw or burnt. Never one to turn down a hot meal, Dwalin tucks in without wasting more words. When the fish is finished, he scopes the house for more food to settle his hunger, it has been several days since his last full meal and he is ravenous.

The hobbit is making stuttered inquiries and muttering to itself and Dwalin rolls his eyes. If this truly is their burglar, he knows the art of burglary and knows that Dwalin was invited in and so everything he eats has already been offered. He had replied ‘at your service’ after all, an offer which dwarves rarely took lightly and none would fully disregard.

He’s opening a jar of honey when he really looks at the hobbit, sitting there watching him with wide eyes. The little creature’s mouth moves as though he’s thinking of something to say and Dwalin is suddenly riveted to those delicate-looking lips. A flash of arousal shoots through him and he twists the lid off the jar with more force than was perhaps necessary. Without a word he leans back in the small chair and dips two fingers into the honey, clear gold clinging to his fingers and dripping back into the gloop silently.

Keeping his eyes on the hobbit, who is now looking perplexed and unsettled, he slides his fingers into his mouth, sliding them across his tongue with a moan. The honey fills his mouth and the hobbit visibly shudders, his little face reddening and his hands twitching as they clutch the patchwork of his dressing gown.

Dwalin sucks hard on his fingers, cleaning them of any remaining honey and he sees Bilbo shifting, sees him bite his delectable lips and the large dwarf growls. “’Ave you tried this?” he swirls a finger in the honey, smirking, “you should try it, it’s tasty.” He dips both fingers into the honey and grabs a hold of the hobbit’s gown, tugging him roughly into his lap.

Bilbo yelps and stutters out a garbled combination of questions and demands, “What do you think you’re doing? How dare you? Let go! What? Excuse me, but-!” And Dwalin silences him by sliding his fingers between those lips.

Bilbo’s eyes grow wide and he gulps, making a shocked ‘eep’ around Dwalin’s fingers. The thick digits fill his mouth, thick on his tongue. He blushes as he catches Dwalin’s eyes, deep and intense. The honey is really quite nice, a gift from a neighbour, it is sweet and he cannot help a moan of appreciation at the flavour as it trickles down his throat. He sucks, and feels arousal seep through him at Dwalin’s deep groan.

It has been a long time since Dwalin has bedded anyone, not for lack of admirers, but more to do with lack of time and his sense of duty. He rarely indulges himself in the taverns and brothels that lie in the seedier parts of the towns he travels through and he often keeps to his own company. Never one to share many words with any but his elder brother and old friend Thorin, he attracts few with his gruff, defensive behaviour.

The hobbit in his lap is squirming and Dwalin slips his fingers out to rub along Bilbo’s bottom lip. “Would you like some more lad?” he asks, his voice a low growl. The sight of the splash of red across the hobbit’s cheeks and the way his tiny pink tongue teases his fingertips send heat straight down to his loins and he can hardly control himself from ravaging the small creature.

“Oh, ah, yes please Mr... Dwalin was it?” Bilbo feels his blush deepen and his cock twitch as Dwalin growls. He suddenly imagines the large dwarf shoving him into the sheets of his bed, tearing off his clothes, buttons popping and his hands and mouth claiming every inch of his body. He moans and watches as Dwalin dips his fingers into the honey jar, bringing them back up to his lips. He takes them without a protest, bobbing his head, sucking and licking and swallowing around those thick fingers.

Dwalin holds Bilbo still with his knees, pinning the hobbit in place. With his other hand now free, he tugs the ties of the dressing gown and wrenches is down the hobbit’s shoulders, the thick cloth hitting the floor with a soft thump. The ties of the breeches are next and he growls in irritation, he cannot undo them single-handed and Bilbo is driving him to distraction with his devious mouth.

Bilbo reaches down, deftly untying them and he gives Dwalin’s fingers a good, long suck, cheeks hollowing. His small body is thrumming with need, and he whimpers as the large dwarf’s fingers slide down into his breeches, fondling his cock briefly. The fabric is tugged down until it rests at his knees and Dwalin manoeuvres his body until he straddles the dwarf’s thighs, kneeling across them.

Dwalin looks to the table for a moment. He is pleased to find what he seeks within moments, a bottle of oil for cooking. He reaches for it, fingers slipping free from Bilbo’s mouth and the hobbit whines, rocking against him hungrily. Dwalin turns and claims that wet mouth, tongue diving in to taste honey and the personal flavour of the hobbit’s tongue. His hands fumble with the cork and he finally clicks his fingers, trailing between the hobbit’s thighs to his arse, rubbing against the opening.

Bilbo hums into the kiss, hands tangling in Dwalin’s beard and sliding down his chest and slipping to toy with the front of the dwarf’s breeches, palming the thick bulge caught within the cloth. He yelps as those thick digits begin to toy with his opening, the slicked fingertips slipping past the clenching muscle as it begins to relax. One slowly penetrates him and Bilbo gasps, rocking at the feeling and the look in Dwalin’s eyes as he holds his stare.

Dwalin slips his free hand up to Bilbo’s mouth, two fingers slipping in, mirroring what the fingers are doing to the hobbit’s rear. The noises the tiny creature is making are delicious and Dwalin hopes he can contain himself until Bilbo is well-stretched. He is not a small dwarf after all.

Bilbo cries out around his mouthful as the second finger breeches him, stretching his opening and making his writhe, cock hard and leaking. “Oh, please” he moans, words slurred around the thick fingers and he spears his tongue between them, tasting remnants of honey in the calloused skin. Dwalin is rough, pounding into him until he hits a spot inside and Bilbo knows he can take no more. “Please-ah!- I need it!”

Dwalin cannot help but groan, removing his fingers with a wet pop and slicking his thick cock with the oil, pouring it over until it drips down over his testicles and pools on the seat of the chair. He grips Bilbo’s thigh, slick fingers leaving oily trails on the pale skin, and he thrusts.

Bilbo screams, body jerking as Dwalin shoves himself to the hilt in one sharp motion. The feeling of being filled, both in his mouth and within him feels wonderful, overwhelming. Dwalin gives him only a few moments before setting a fast pace, rocking the hobbit’s body as he pounds into him.

The hobbit is tiny, so, so tight around him and the sight of those plump little lips around his fingers? Pure, unadulterated, bliss. He delights in the hobbit’s every cry as he thrusts upwards and in his every moan as he hits that spot deep within. Bilbo’s eyes are glazed with pleasure and Dwalin kisses him around his own fingers, tongue sliding over them into the hobbit’s mouth.

Bilbo knows he is close, his thighs trembling and the heat in his stomach burning like a furnace. He cries out, tongue dancing with Dwalin’s as he comes, body writhing in bliss, clenching down on the large dwarf within him.

Dwalin grunts as he joins the hobbit, hips jerking erratically, cock held captive as Bilbo clenches. He comes, filling the hobbit until he can hold no more, seed sliding down his shaft from the hobbit’s opening. He pants, holding the spent creature against him, Bilbo’s lips still wrapped around his fingers, sucking languidly.

..

 

Later, when they are dressed once more and the rest of the company begin to arrive, Dwalin shares a heated glance with the hobbit. He knows that this was only the first of many couplings with this delightful little creature.

 

_Fin._


	12. Bofur/Fili - Dimple Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9787669#t9787669
> 
> _you have your kinks, hobbit kink meme, and i have mine_  
>  and mine is dimple kink  
> just someone coming all over bofur or fili's face and then licking the come out of his dimples  
> hey man dont judge me 

**Warnings:** 69, oral, facial, dimple!worship

 

Fili moaned around Bofur’s cock, tongue swirling around the head before he bobbed his head, taking the length fully into his mouth. His nose pressed into the dark curls and he inhaled the musky scent, the heady smell of sex overwhelming his senses even as he swallowed, hearing the older dwarf groan below him.

Bofur arched his back, head falling back as the lad swallowed him hungrily and he slid his hands up to grip the younger dwarf’s thighs, the flushed head of Fili’s cock level with his lips. As his mouth opened in a grunt, Fili’s mouth a devious distraction, he leaned up to swallow the lad, the awkward angle proving to be a satisfying challenge. He heard Fili cry out and chuckled, tongue sliding along the length of the shaft, from head to base.

Fili slicked his way off Bofur’s length, taking a deep breath, throat feeling a little raw. He mouthed and kissed from the head to the base, tongue sliding over the testicles as his hips rocked slowly, face flushed with arousal. He lavishes attention on them, taking each into his mouth, tongue swirling, body thrumming at Bofur’s moans and the quickly-aborted jerks of his hips.

Fili cries out as the older dwarf nibbles on the tip of his cock, the sensation at once pleasurable and sharply sensitive, bordering on a sting. In retaliation, he nibbles along Bofur’s shaft, saliva rolling over the enflamed skin, clinging thickly to the dark curls. The young dwarf feels himself slip ever closer to his release and he moves to take Bofur’s length into his mouth once more, moaning in appreciation at Bofur’s startled grunt, the other’s fingers digging into his thighs and hips possessively.

Bofur holds Fili’s hips still and he tilts his head, taking the dwarf in, deep, and he hums around the length, throat protesting. Fili’s loud cry is a nice reward for his efforts not to gag. He can feel his body reaching his peak as Fili bobs and he squeezes the younger’s thigh three times.

Fili draws back at the signal, panting. He takes Bofur in hand and the older dwarf groans, slick heat hitting his face and dripping down onto Bofur’s thighs. He yelps as Bofur jerks his length roughly and he cannot deny him, heat exploding through his abdomen as he comes, white dripping down onto Bofur’s cheeks and lips.

They untangle themselves from one another, both panting and only half-sated. Bofur drags him into his lap, kissing him fiercely, hands tangling into his beard and tilting his face back. The older dwarf groans at the sight of the slick cheeks, the liquid pooling in the hollow dimples of Fili’s cheeks and he leans forwards, dipping his tongue in. He licks like a cat with cream, moaning as his tongue tastes his own essence.

Fili shudders, face flushing and he pulls back, cupping the sides of Bofur’s face. He leans forwards to return the favour, tongue lapping into the dimples. He hears Bofur moan and answers with his own, the salty, thick liquid coating his tongue and reminding him that Bofur is his. And Bofur’s fingers on his arse remind him he belongs to the toymaker and he grinds forwards, hungry for more.

Fin.


	13. Thorin\Balin\Dwalin - Oral, Incest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7034179#t7034179
> 
> _Both Balin and Dwalin with their head in Thorins lap.  
>  Thorin panting and moaning under the double oral assault,his hands winded into the brothers hair, and tugging at them to get them were he wants them to be and assert his dominance._
> 
> _+10 if Ballin and Dwalin also get a little handsy with each other, by order from Thorin._

**Warnings:** Oral, incest

 

Thorin groaned, back arching and thighs jerking as Balin’s tongue slid up his shaft, his fingers wound tight in the older dwarf’s white hair. The prince tugged at Dwalin’s mane, pressing the larger dwarf’s lips to his balls, Dwalin kissing, licking and suckling on them without protest. Thorin grunted, watching as Balin moved to nibble the head of his cock, lips red and wet and wanton.

“Swallow me Balin.” His voice is husky with desire and he at Balin’s fluffy beard, urging him down. Balin grunts at the slight pain of the rough tug and acquiesces, taking Thorin into his mouth with a moan, eyes clenched shut above reddened cheeks.

Thorin pants, biting his lip as he is surrounded by velvety heat. He pulls at Dwalin’s ear until the larger dwarf draws back and meets his eyes. “Touch your brother; pleasure him whilst you wait your turn on my shaft.” Dwalin flushes and averts his eyes, the great warrior proud and unwilling to defy a direct order. Thorin smirks, watching as Dwalin kisses down Balin’s chest, taking a nipple into his mouth, one hand fondling Thorin’s balls, the other slipping to grope between his brother’s thighs.

Balin moans, hips shuddering under his brother’s hand, his mouth’s rhythm slipping for a moment. Thorin grunts, pressing Balin down by his hair, his fingers tangled with the white strands. He feels Balin gag and moans, cock twitching under the flex of the older dwarf’s throat. “Stroke your brother Balin, reward him for his diligence.”

Dwalin bucks into his older brother’s fingers, mouth murmuring into the hardened nipple between his lips. They curl around his shaft, knowing and sure, stroking and tugging, before forming a fist, jerking him roughly. He glances up to see Thorin’s hungry expression, eyes intense, drunk on the knowledge that even if they did not wish to touch, he can make them with a few simple words.

“Ah, stop.” Thorin shudders, holding off his release with a bitten lip and a pained hiss, hands tugging on Balin and Dwalin’s hair. He pants, body enflamed as Balin let’s his cock slip from his mouth, Dwalin’s fingers slipping from his balls to his thigh. They turn to him; hands paused on each other’s bodies, their breathing just as harsh as his own. Thorin wants more before this is over and he slides his hands to their faces, “I would have you kiss your brother, like two lovers would.”

He pushes them towards each other and Dwalin slides his fingers to Balin’s cheeks, angling his older brother’s face up. He bends down to claim Balin’s wet lips, moaning involuntarily as they meet, one hand tangling into the white of the beard, the other slipping down his brother’s body, tweaking a nipple.

Thorin moans, feeling his cock twitch as Balin groans, the older dwarf’s hips jerking, his tongue peaking through their joined mouths as he deepens the kiss. Thorin strokes a finger around the head of his shaft, another moan escaping him as Dwalin groans into his brother’s mouth, gripping his hips as though to draw him into his lap.

“Dwalin, Balin, I require your services.” He strokes himself languidly as they draw apart, a strand of saliva joining their reddened lips. “Your mouths once more, if you please.” He fears he would have come whilst watching them and that is not befitting a king.

They soon fall into their first positions, lying either side of him, mouths hard at work on his cock. Balin’s tongue and lips tease the base and balls and Dwalin licks and sucks the tip before nibbling up and down the shaft. Thorin pants, moaning as he holds them still by their hair.

Their mouth meet at the tip of his cock and they share a kiss, tongues teasing one another around the tip and Thorin feels himself shudder, a choked moan escaping as he comes. Seed fills their mouths and catches in the hairs of their beards and Thorin pants, groaning in the aftershocks.

Fin.


	14. Bilbo/Goblins - Non-con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=8711189#t8711189
> 
> _....The dwarves are brought before the Goblin King with Bilbo and, like in the movie, the Goblin King easily figures out who the dwarves are and that Azog would reward him handsomely for handing them over. But then he catches sight of Bilbo and realizes that he's not a dwarf and asks who and what Bilbo is._
> 
> _One of the goblins recognizes Bilbo as a "Shire rat, not much fight and good only for eating and fucking." So the Goblin King decides Bilbo's not worth much and hands him over to his children to "play" with as a warm-up before they get started on the dwarves...._

**Warnings:** Non-con, rape (explicit descriptions of pain and blood), gangbang, restraint, trauma

 

The Goblin King leaned down, grinning at the dwarf stood so defiantly before him. “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just a head,” the Goblin King chuckled, “nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak.” The foul creature stood back, regarding Thorin with a sneer. “An old enemy of yours.”

Thorin glared up at the goblin, as if daring him to speak further.

“A Pale Orc, astride a white warg.” The Goblin King continued, tone almost delighted.

The dwarf looked up at that, “Azog the defiler... was destroyed.” he hissed out. “He was slain in battle long ago!”

The Goblin King leaned forwards once more, gaze challenging. “So you think his defiling days a done, do you?” He laughed and turned to one of his servants, a tiny messenger on a pulley. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize!”

The Goblin King suddenly noticed the small creature huddled among the dwarves. Too small and hairless to be a dwarf and much too old to be an elfling or man child. “And what,” he points at the wretched creature, “is that?”

One of his goblin soldiers jerks the little thing forwards by it’s curly hair. “It’s a Shire rat, from back west. Tiny squealing things ain’t got much fight in ‘em, they’re only good for eating and fucking.”

The Goblin King considers the creature, it’s tiny frail body and eyes wide open with terror. Azog has no interest in this tiny being, it is worthless. Or perhaps it’s body can be worth a little. Much time has passed since he indulged his warriors with a prize and although he needs the dwarves (Thorin for Azog, the rest are still worth a pretty penny with the right auctioneer); he can certainly spare the fluffy thing.

“My lads, have your fill of this tasty morsel’s body, it has been too long since you had a comely wench or lad to play with. When you have all had your fill, we will start readying the dwarves for the Pale Orc!”

His warriors crow with delight and the hobbit is wrenched up in their grasp, his dwarven companions clamouring and struggling to get to him. The Goblin King sits back, reclining on his throne, hungrily watching as the tiny pale creature is stripped of his clothing, creamy flesh just aching to be stroked and bitten and claimed.

Bilbo cries out as hands grab him and he struggled as layer upon layer of his clothes are torn from is body. The caves are cold and the hands stroking and fondling his flesh clammy and overly-warm. A mouth bites into his neck and he yelps, begging for them to stop as his arms are pulled up behind his head, tied together with a strip of leather.

The dwarves, also restrained, can only watch in horror as their little burglar is manhandled and molested, his chest and thighs soon marked with numerous scratches and bite marks. They curse at the goblins and struggle against their bonds, but are unable to escape.

A goblin spreads Bilbo’s legs, obviously the captain of the band, and he spits into his palm, slicking Bilbo’s entrance with a few strokes of his fingers. Bilbo screams as the creature thrusts inside, his body ill-prepared and inexperienced and writhing in agony as the goblin continues taking it’s pleasure, grunting and panting it’s delight.

Clawed fingers slip between his legs, fondling his length and Bilbo sobs, hips jerking in pain and face red with the humiliation. He feels the hands on him and opens his clenched eyes to see evil leering and grinning faces staring down at him from all sides and he cries, shutting his eyes once more. Cruel fingers twist his nipples and mouths with sly tongues soon follow, suckling on the sore nubs.

He wails as the goblin insides him impales him harshly before coming, harsh pants leaving globs of saliva on his chest and he is handed off to another goblin, the blood and seed slicking him up as it slides inside him. His legs are pulled upwards, knees hitting his chest and the hobbit attempts to draw away as a mouth latches onto his length, crying out.

Tears spring up, slicking down his cheeks and he sobs as a rough hand grips his jaw and pokes into his cheek, forcing his mouth open. The rounded head of a hard length is pushed against his lips and he gags as it is shoved into his mouth. Behind the moans, grunts, growls and cruel laughter of the goblins using him, he can hear the dwarves shouting his name and fighting their captors and the dark chuckles of the Goblin King on his throne.

In his worst nightmares he could never have imagined such a terrible thing. The humiliation is worse than the pain; the way his length and nipples harden in the goblins’ mouths, despite him feeling no pleasure and the whimpers and tears he cannot control.

He is falling into darkness, his mind becoming fuzzy through the pain when a bright light lights the cave. He is dropped as the goblins run shrieking. He cannot move and he feels the rough hands of the dwarves as they pick him up, clothes wrapped around him as they shift him onto Dori’s back.

They run and the light of the day outside has never looked so good, no matter the pain in his body and the hollowness in his heart.

....

 

Bilbo shifted on a makeshift bed, hidden behind the blankets strung up on the lowest tree branch of the oak tree he lay under. The night drew on as the dwarves paced beyond the confines of the makeshift tent. The hobbit said nothing, even as he heard raised voices.

Oin appeared, ducking past the fabric and letting it flap closed behind him. He knelt by Bilbo’s side and offered him a flask of water which the hobbit gladly took. “I am sorry lad, but I’ll need to see to you, to your injuries. Lest they fester and cause you ill.” And the elder dwarf looks aggrieved, laying a hand of comfort on Bilbo’s knee.

The hobbit let out a breathless sob and he nodded, eyes wet with tears and squeezed shut as he helps Oin remove his clothes. The elder dwarf is gentle as he carefully examines each bite and scratch and he hands Bilbo a cloth, damp with clean water infused with agrimony to stem any blood flow.

Bilbo bites his lip, breath hitching as he swipes over sore flesh and cleans the deeper bites and claw marks. They litter his neck and chest and the scratches are deep around his hips where cruel claws dug in desire.

Oin steadies him as he kneels to wash between his legs and he cries, sobbing brokenly as he cleans the filth and blood from his thighs and his private areas. His buttocks are the worst and even touching the raw opening has him whimpering, the agonising sting drawing more tears and the cloth comes away bright red.

Oin looks away to give him privacy and Bilbo is grateful, his body feel dirtied and not his own. The elder dwarf reaches into his pack and draws out a jar, the container filled with comfrey salve, the herb a familiar smell in this horribly nightmarish scene. The dwarf hands the salve to him and Bilbo coats his fingers, applying it between his legs, grunting at the pain.

Bilbo thanks Oin, although his voice is choked and rough and sounds more broken than he feels. The dwarf says nothing, simply assists him into over-large breeches and a tunic, obviously a dwarf’s spares, and Bilbo embraces him. “This was not the first time I have been taken against my will, you do not have to coddle me so” his voice rasps out and looks up into Oin’s wide eyes.

“What are you saying lad? A hobbit raped you?! I’ll promise you this, if we find the villain, we’ll kill him!” Oin looks incensed and Bilbo shrugs lightly.

“It was quite a time ago now, two men found me while I journeyed to visit my cousins and forced me. I was not right for a long time, but I grew better, although I never took a lover after.” The hobbit shuddered as he recalled that horrible memory and he was gladdened that he was with friends. That time he had had no close friends and had learned to live with the fear by himself until the memories finally faded and he could sleep at night.

“I’ll personally have those goblin’s heads, all of ‘em. You are the bravest and strongest lad I ever met. Why, all us dwarves would lay our lives down for you, after what you endured.” Oin held the hobbit’s shoulder and resolved to keep his promise, and kill any who had ever wronged him.

Bilbo smiled sadly, “I’m hardly strong or courageous, I simply do what I must. I cannot thank you all enough for recuing me from those goblins and I am glad they did not harm the youngsters such as Ori, Kili and Fili.” The hobbit pulled himself to his feet, body shuddering as pain slid from feet to head in a wave.

Oin steadied him once more, “lad, the best thing to do is talk; speak of it to those you trust, such as the wizard. Pain of the body I can heal, pain of the mind is healed through time and friends.”

As they emerge from the blanket tent and Bofur, Gandalf and Fili and Kili rush forwards to see if he is well, the wizard embracing him fiercely, Bilbo decides Oin is right. The wounds still hurt and the fear still grips his chest, but with their friendly embraces and listening ears he knows he can heal.

 

Fin.


	15. Thorin/Fem!Bilbo - Fingering with rings on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2702779#t2702779
> 
> _Thorin fingering fem!Bilbo while keeping his rings on. Because that's hot._

Bilbo groaned, her hips jerking under the attentions of Thorin’s single fingertip, swirling over her clit with the lightness of a feather. Her excitement slicked the folds of her sex, easing his fingers as they stroked over her outer lips and slipped into her.

Thorin watched, transfixed, as Bilbo threw her head back with a cry as he penetrated her with a single finger. Her entrance was wet and loosened through arousal and he grunted in hunger as it she throbbed around his thick digit, pulling him in deeper. He slid his finger up to the thick angular ring, the cool metal rubbing against her until it too disappeared inside.

Bilbo wailed, hands clutching at Thorin’s tunic at the shock of the cold metal within her hot passage. She rocked against his finger, the ring stretching and rubbing inside her with an almost too-hard pressure. Another finger pressed against her opening, begging entrance, and she gasped as it pushed to join its brother, slipping inside of her.

Thorin groaned as Bilbo whimpered his name, her tiny body writhing in his lap. He pressed his fingers deeper and was rewarded with another pleasured cry as the ring on the second finger was pressed inside. He adjusted his arm around her, pulling the hobbit up until he could claim her lips with a hungry groan.

His lover shook, her body quivering as the rings stretched her, grinding into her body with agonising pleasure. His thumb trailed over her clit and she let out a broken sob, biting her lip as the pleasure built. A third finger slid inside her and she cannot think, mouth and tongue preoccupied with the dwarf prince’s and her body stretched tight around those thick fingers and thicker metal rings.

Thorin increases the pace of his caresses, pumping his ringed fingers in and out of her deliciously slicked folds. He pants, breaking the kiss to watch as she writhes, hips rocking into his hand and eyes and mouth wide as she reaches her peak. She cries his name as she comes, entrance pulsing and throbbing around the hard, now warmed, metal of her lover’s rings.

They rub against her oversensitive entrance as Thorin slides his finger out and she groans, knowing that she wants more. “Ah, please Thorin, once more? Your rings feel good inside me.”

He chuckles, kissing her neck and strokes her folds with wet fingers. “Anything for you, love.”

 

Fin.


	16. Bombur/Bofur - Teasing turns sexual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9085205#t9085205
> 
> _Bombur's getting tickled or playfully pinched or groped and he gets aroused... Bofur notices and decides to make it up to his younger brother._

**Warnings:** Accidental arousal, incest, groping, oral

 

Bombur bent down, knife in hand, to cut a sprig of sage. He had, to his delight, discovered the herb in the undergrowth, hidden in a thicket of trees not far from their camp. Although it was long after supper and many of their company were already fast asleep, he thought it would benefit them if he stayed a moment to collect. Herbs were hard to come by whilst on the road and precious for their flavour or medical properties.

He has just cut the herb and has laid the knife down when fingers suddenly grip his underarms, tickling and poking relentlessly. He jumps and yelps, startled, dropping the bundle to the ground as he attempts to roll away. “Get off me Bofur!”

Bofur just laughs uproariously in response, increasing his invasive tickles. He presses into Bombur’s back, pinning his larger brother on his knees.

Bombur fights his older brother, twisting and bucking and yelping as those fingers prod and poke and tickle without mercy or pause. He tries to grab the hands with his own, hips jerking in distress. He curses his brother, a mixture of common speech and Khuzdul, words flowing fast and angry between pants and grunts.

The fingers slip down to his waist, gripping and ticking his stomach and thighs. A finger slip over his inner thigh has an unexpected flush crawling across his cheeks and fights with more vigour. It has been a long time since he was last intimate with anyone and well... “Brother, let go, enough now!”

Bofur cackles, fingers rubbing his lower belly, gripping the plump flesh mockingly, “But you are so jiggly brother, I cannot resist the jiggle!” His fingers slide down to Bombur’s thighs and grip in what he sees as a childish pinch, only a little harsh.

Bombur bites his lip as heat slicks down into his substantial belly and his hips jerk under his brother’s touch. He whimpers, horrified at his body’s reaction, face beetroot in mortification. “Please... brother please, don’t-ah.” His hands clutch at his brother’s but instead of pulling them away, they end up pressing them into his thighs harder, skin under his breeches tingling under the press of those devious digits.

Bofur stops, at first confused, still chuckling. At the broken note in his little brother’s voice and the touch on his hands he halts, drawing even closer and peering over Bombur’s shoulder curiously. Bombur hears his sudden intake of breath as his brother slips his hand up and brushes the hardness between Bombur’s legs.

Bombur gasps, unaware he had been holding his breath. Bofur’s fingers twitch and his older brother is no longer laughing. He is oddly silent, hips and chest still held fast against Bombur’s back, a hot, familiar weight. “Bofur...” He cannot seem to find any words, face still flushed and body still aching, hungry for touch.

Bofur exhales, the breath warm on the back of Bombur’s neck, and the large dwarf moans, hips stuttering. His older brother breathes deep again, hands twitching. “Ba-ombur?” Bofur’s voice cracks.

Bombur swallows, his eyes wide. His brother has not pulled away and his body is thrumming with need and confusion. “Brother... I cannot... please.” He does not know what he is asking for, voice pleading and hoarse, throat clicking as he swallows once more.

Bofur says nothing more, but his lips press against the back of his younger brother’s neck and his hands slide up to Bombur’s waist, tugging down the breeches. Bombur opens his mouth to protest, hands flapping in worry, but Bofur’s fingers grip him and he ends up groaning, body shuddering his brother’s grasp.

Bofur’s other hand is not idle, gliding up over his belly and under his shirt to fondle his nipples, pinching and pulling gently. Bombur hisses and moans, head slipping back and Bofur’s lips attack his throat, kissing and licking. Grunts and breathy noises escape his older brother’s throat and Bombur feels the hardness pressed against his rear, Bofur’s hips thrusting into him hungrily.

“Mmm, let me help you with that brother, lay back on the ground.” Bofur murmurs into his neck and Bombur groans low in his throat. He whines a little as Bofur shifts back to let him move and he does so, gingerly avoiding the knife by twisting to lay down an arm’s length away. He blushes hard, feeling extremely exposed, breeches at his ankles and shirt pushed up by the grass to his nipples.

Bofur grins, crawling to rest between his legs. A hand wraps around his straining length and Bombur whimpers as Bofur’s mouth engulfs him, tongue sliding along his shaft. The sight of his brother’s mouth around him causes him to groan, a dark delight overtaking him at the forbidden nature of it all. He cups Bofur’s cheek and cries out as Bofur’s eyes open to meet his and his brother swallows him deep.

“Ah-ah! Brother!” Bombur tries not to thrust, tries to stop himself from hurting his brother. His body twitches and jerks, slave to the heat and pleasure of his brother’s hot tongue, and the possessive hands kneading his thighs. He feels the heat build and comes, a groan of his brother’s name slipping from his tongue.

Bofur suckles him until the furnace dies down, the flashes of white and the pounding of his ears settle into languid warmth. He shudders in the aftershocks and sits up, watching Bofur slipping his own hand into his breeches with eyes clenched shut and a teeth biting into his lip.

He pushes his brother onto his back, slipping the dark breeches open with deft fingers. “At your service brother.” He licks the head of his brother’s shaft and delights at Bofur’s groan and the fuzzy hat falls from his brother’s head as he arches into Bombur’s greedy mouth.

 

_Fin_


	17. Gloin/wife - Skinnydipping sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11172834#t11172834
> 
> _Dis and her husband? Gloin and his wife? Genderswap within the company? OFCs? I don't mind how, I just want dwarves going swimming with women who are little and hairy._

**Warnings:** Het, handjob, fingering

 

She’s beautiful, all reddish gold hair from head to toe, whispers of hairs from her ankles to the thick blanket across her thighs and stomach. Heat flares within him as she moves to undo the braids in her hair, the strands curling into ringlets as they slide free and she grins knowingly as she throws her head back, a curtain falling about her shoulders and curling enticingly about her breasts.

Gloin shifts, water up to his shoulders and legs kicking below the surface. She tucks her braids into the pouch on her belt and he watches the swing of her hips as she walks towards him. The darkened hair on her legs is thick up to the knee, thin on her thighs but no less delicious. He cannot wait to touch her.

She chuckles and ducks under the surface when he tries to reach for her, appearing a foot away with beard wet and clinging, eyes bright with delight and mischief. He chases her and they splash like children, laughing as she turns to pounce on him, ducking him under with a warrior cry.

He kisses her, wet and hungry, hands holding her captive around her shoulders. She laughs into his mouth, hands gripping his rear and slipping up his back to his neck, deepening the kiss. He revels in her, fingers stroking the softness of her beard, tongue dancing with hers.

She does not protest as his hands slip down, cupping her furred breasts and she groans as he sucks pale skin of her neck, his thumbs rubbing over pert nipples. Her leg wraps around him, knee brushing his waist as she arches into his touch. Gloin kisses her again fiercely, and her hands are not idle, stroking down his chest and gripping his thighs possessively.

He slides a hand between her legs, into the thick curls and the soft folds that tremble around his fingers. She cries out and her hips rock into his hand, her own slipping between his own legs to tease him. Gloin groans, undone, and she smiles, her lips quirking in triumph as he quivers beneath her fingers.

He slips a finger inside her and she grips him firmly in a fist skilled with a sword. Her strong thighs buck against him and he arches into her fingers, mouth meeting hers. They do not last long, and the dark water holds them as they quiver and shake and rock, moans muffled by the greed of their tongues. She twitches around him and comes with a cry, holding his finger captive as she writhes. He joins her a mere moment later, groaning, heart pounding within his chest.

She leans into him, resting her head on his chest as they lay back, the evening breeze cooling them. Gloin hugs her close and revels in his good-fortune to have won the heart of such a strong and lovely dwarf-woman.

 

_Fin._


	18. Dwalin/Fem!Thorin – Rough sex, cunnilingus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=10993122#t10993122
> 
> _Dwalin loves how rough he can be with his Queen and loves even more how desperately she rides his face when he eats her out before fucking her senseless._

**Warnings:** Het, rough sex, cunnilingus

 

She’s stronger than most dwarf lasses and even many dwarven lads. He loves how she can take being shoved against walls and pinned to the bed and to the floor. Any other would complain but she revels in the roughness of his touch, of the scrapes and bruises he delivers as they rut wildly like animals.

He pulls at her clothes and Thorin grins, tossing her dress over her head and off to the side, straddling his stomach. Her undergarments are next, freeing her breasts which bounce as she arches, flinging the flimsy cloth to join her outerwear. Her body, furred and flushed, presses against him and she rocks against his stomach, dark braids falling around his head.

Dwalin grips her thighs and wrenches her upwards, up until those folds, half-hidden in their nest of dark curls, press against his lips. He groans, tongue slipping out to explore the wet curls and he feels her shudder above him, fingers tight on her thighs.

She gasps his name as his tongue slips into her folds, lapping at slick, velvety-softness. She’s wet, practically dripping, and the taste of her excitement has him moaning; a slight tang under the creaminess, overwhelming and delicious. She rocks and he hears her hiss through clenched teeth. “Dwalin _please_!”

Dwalin devours her, mouth greedy and tongue devious, speeding his actions the way he knows she loves. She cries out, body struggling in his hands and he lets her go, palms simply resting on her thighs. Thorin writhes; hips pressing her sex into his mouth, her hands pressed the floor above his head, her knees scuffing the floorboards as she rides him.

He slips his tongue into her entrance, the hole yielding to him with no resistance and he imagines how good she will feel around his length later, when he fucks her into the bed or wall. His nose is pressed into her slick folds and he groans as he imagines her arousal matting his beard. How the slick liquid will look clinging to the hairs when she kisses him, sucking it off with her devious mouth, tasting herself.

Dwalin suckles up to her clit, lavishing the hard nub with attention and Thorin howls, hips rocking into his face hard enough to bruise. He remembers, fondly, one night when she broke his nose and suckles her harder, feeling his length twitch at her cries and gasping breaths. He knows she is close now, hips shifting hard and fast and erratically, panting gasps and whimpering groans escaping her with every jarring rock.

He slides his tongue inside her just as she stiffens, clenching around the tip of his tongue. With a moan she writhes, body shuddering on top of his before she falls forwards, landing on her elbows and pressing her throbbing sex into his mouth. He feels her shake and suckles and licks languidly until she lets out a broken sigh and raises herself, rolling to the side to lie beside him.

He watches as she leans back, a hand rising to brush the hair sticking to her forehead and she pants, lip bleeding from where she had bitten it in pleasure at some point. He watches her breasts rise and fall with her pants and feels his length twitch once more, licking her slick excitement from his lips. He would have her, pound into her, on the bed. And she would cry out his name, completely undone.

_Fin._


	19. Oin/Gloin- Angry Kissing, Dub-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5758785#t5758785
> 
>  
> 
> _Anything that involve Oin shoving Gloin up against something and snogging the living daylight out of him. Not to fussed about why. Maybe Oin is burning with jealousy because someone married his little brother and took him away from him._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (My apologies, I started writing this when very, very angry. So if it’s bad, I’m sorry.)

**Warnings;** Incest, mentions of masturbation and sexual fantasies, dub-con/violent kissing, angst

He cannot think through the anger and betrayal as they say their vows. She tosses her hair and he can only glare at her sparkling eyes, framed by the reddish-brown of her beard. Gloin’s eyes are bright and his cheeks reddened beneath his beard and Oin grinds his teeth, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. 

He doesn’t speak; he just nods when Gloin looks to him and tries to relax his glower into a smile for a moment. He doesn’t want questions and looks from Gloin’s wife or the rest of their present company. And he certainly doesn’t want them from Gloin. He leaves as soon as the vows are finished and they have braided the joining braid into each other’s hair. 

He hears the cheers and clanking of cups as he storms down the hall and it does nothing but enflame him. His anger burns, fierce and deep and consuming. The halls are relatively quiet, most of the neighbourhood at the wedding and the rest busy with their respectful crafts.

He wants to hit the wall, slam his fist into the stone until the rock crumbles, or his hand is too broken to make a fist. Mahal damn his brother! Damn him for his deep, shining eyes and his soft, shapely beard. What he wouldn’t give to rake his hands through that hair, tug his brother forwards by those braids, tangle his fingers into the strands.

Oin growls, slamming the door of their once-shared home closed behind him. Gloin’s door is open and he makes for it. His brother will not sleep here again, the tunnel fashioned for his wife and him bought and ready. Gloin’s room is half-empty, all that is left is his bed, bare and empty, and a chest of armour, disused.

He kicks the chest and though heavy, it tumbles, metal clanging as armour hits the floor. It is the armour of a younger dwarf, the helmet cracked. Gloin had been young then, hardly of age when Oin had handed his younger brother his old armour. Even then, when Gloin had little more than stubble on his chin, Oin had wanted him.

He had known it was wrong, that it was unlawful and forbidden. Gloin was a fine young dwarf, if reckless and naive, and his little brother had admired him. Gloin hadn’t known that when Oin was stood behind him, correcting his stance with an axe, that his older brother was breathing in the musky scent of his hair.

He hadn’t heard Oin’s gasps and laboured breaths when he touched himself at night, watching Gloin from his bed. And he hadn’t seen his older brother’s scowls when dwarf lasses, and even some lads, flirted shamelessly with him.

He had tried to halt his interest. He had tumbled with dwarf lads and even some lasses; he had tried not to think of his brother’s strong thighs and his eyes as he caressed his lovers. But always, always Gloin plagued his mind, his youthful grin and his jovial manner.

And now this. Oh he had known Gloin would fall for a lass someday and wed her. He had simply not wanted to think of it. Not when he could steer Gloin home, his brother’s head against his shoulder after a night in the local tavern. Not when he had the excuse to hold him and lay him in his bed and brush the soft hair from his forehead. And pretend that they were more than brothers.

He is jolted from his thoughts by the clicking of the latch and the stomp of heavy boots in the hall. He turns as the door creaks open and Gloin shoves his way inside. His face is a mixture of confusion and anger and Oin waits for his brother to talk.

“Brother, why are you here? It is my wedding day and you are skulking here as though you disapprove.” His brother’s voice is even, but face is painted with fury. 

Oin glares back, “You should return to your wife, she must miss your presence.” His words are spat and they drip with venom. “I do not have to answer to you _laddie_ , you shouldn’t be here.” He turns away from his brother, eyes clenching shut to match his fists, held at his sides.

Gloin grabs his shoulder and wrenches him back around and he almost stumbles. “What is the matter brother?! You gave me your blessing nigh on three moons ago, do you wish to withdraw your blessing on my wedding night?!” His younger brother’s voice is thunderous. “What is wrong with Fringa? She is a fine dwarf-lady and every other would vouch for her. How dare you ruin our joining?!” He twitches, as though restraining himself from lashing out.

Oin snarls and he seizes Gloin’s shoulders, throwing him against the wall. “The matter?! You wish to know the matter brother?!” He presses himself flush to his brother, catching Gloin’s wrists and pinning them to the stone with difficulty. “You know not what you do to me!” His mouth captures his brother’s lips before he can think and his anger spurs him further, kissing Gloin roughly.

His brother stiffens in shock and mouth slips open in a gasp. Oin forces his way deeper, stabbing his tongue between his brother’s lips. And it is not sweet or sensual or loving, or any of the other things he has imagined their first kiss would be. His hate and need and jealousy fill their mouths and Gloin yelps, a noise of confusion and fear and he fights him, body writhing within his grasp.

Oin does not let go, if this is the only kiss, the only touch he will have from his brother, he will savour it. His brother’s lips, for the moment, are his and his alone and he bites them furiously, exploring his brother’s mouth with his tongue. Gloin grunts and Oin opens his eyes to meet wild, terrified pupils and flushed cheeks. The sight is almost what he wants, and the groan that follows the line of his tongue betrays his brother’s confused enjoyment.

Gloin’s body falls lax, his eyes slipping closed, and he does not resist as Oin kisses him deeper. He releases his younger brother’s hands, pulling Gloin closer and devouring his mouth. Gloin’s hands grip his shoulders and his brother pants, body trembling like a leaf in an autumn wind. 

Oin draws back, mouth wet, harsh, uneven breaths leaving him in the wake of their kiss. Gloin’s eyes slip open, glazed and disturbed. His lips are reddened and bruised and he swallows. His eyes flit between terror, anger and horror and Oin feels something inside clench painfully when he is pushed back and Gloin leaves, slamming the door behind him.

The silence is stifling and regret fills him. He has ruined everything.

 

...

 

It is five summers later when he is called to his brother’s tunnel. The midwife has been taken ill and he is the only doctor near. Fringa pants on the bed and Gloin says nothing to him. The babe is a lad, and well enough to wail and squirm and Oin hands him to his younger brother.

Gloin smiles at him for the first time in five years and thanks him. And Oin knows then that he will never have his brother as Fringa does, but he does not care. His brother’s friendship is all he needs.

 

_Fin._


	20. Dwalin/Ori - Watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11590114#t11590114
> 
> _My ticket to special hell:_
> 
> _I just want Dwalin pissing on, and in, someone._
> 
> _*hides*_

**Warnings:** Watersports (extreme), dom/sub, age and size difference  
(Also I’ve never written watersports/urine play before so please forgive me if this sucks)

 

Dwalin grasps Ori’s hips, feeling the bones hard beneath the lean muscle. The scribe gasps and writhes in his hold, mittened hands grasping the ground, dirtying the wool. Dwalin revels in the sight of Ori arching on the ground, back scraping the grass and legs spread wantonly. Curls of darkened red streak from the lad’s chest to his navel and Dwalin groans as precum gathers at the tip of that hard shaft, the excitement palpable and delicious.

He’s hard, the twinges in his bladder harsh and urgent. He holds off the flow, slipping two slicked fingers inside Ori’s entrance. The scribe whines, gasping his name and he chuckles, thrusting his fingers roughly. This is their fifth time and third on this quest and he is glad that Dori and Nori are fast asleep back at the camp. If they could see their wanton little brother now, moaning and pleading for his cock...

Ori bites his lips, arching into those fingers. “Mr Dwalin, please, I can’t- I’ll come too soon!” The lad’s eyes are wide and his body is twitching with the effort to stave off his orgasm.

Dwalin takes pity on him, withdrawing his fingers and pushing himself inside. He grits his teeth and hisses as the slick tightness puts pressure on his cock, a trickle of urine sliding from the tip. He’s not going to last long and he thrusts, gripping Ori’s thighs with both hands and pounding inside the small scribe.

Ori cries out, body arching and rocking within his grasp. The lad is a real looker when lost in pleasure and Dwalin groans at the sight of his flushed cheeks and teeth sliding into reddened wet lips. His braids entice Dwalin to his pale neck, sliding over the creamy skin as he rolls his head back at a deep thrust.

Dwalin feels the clench in his gut and the ache becomes unbearable. He moans, long and deep as the urine flows, emptying his bladder. He slides out of Ori’s clenching heat, covering the lad’s shaft and stomach with clear gold. The feeling of release, of the relief is delicious and the sound of Ori’s aroused gasps is music to his ears.

He lets out a sigh, looking down at Ori’s glistening body. He slides his fingers into Ori’s hole and groans at the contrast of slick salve and the wet of urine. Ori cries out his name, cock twitching as he is pushed over the edge, clenching around Dwalin’s fingers and white seed twining with gold on his stomach.

Dwalin slides his fingers out, sliding them up to rest on Ori’s chest, spreading their combined fluids like butter on bread. He captures the scribe’s lips and moans into the lad’s hot mouth. His cock twitches, hardening again at the thought of sliding into the lad’s entrance, filling him up even more.

At Ori’s whimpers he knows the scribe wouldn’t be adverse to his desires.

 

_Fin._


	21. Thorin/Orcrist, Thorin/Fili - Object Insertion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11516386#t11516386
> 
>  
> 
> _Thorin’s way to relieve himself. The king goes into the woods at night and finds a better sheath for his elven sword._
> 
>  
> 
> _+1000 for someone from the company is walking on him. Maybe helping him finish what he started? (I prefer Dwalin, Balin, Fili, Kili as a helping hand)_

(Set in Rivendell and not the woods, sorry and it’s my first time writing Durincest and also this took me ages, I kept sitting down going ‘okay I’ll write Thorin shagging his sword now’ and then going ‘erm... how do I do that again?’ So yes, this may be bloody awful.)

 **Warnings:** Object insertion, anal, voyeurism, incest (first time), also Thorin hating on the elves... more cultural-ism than racism

 

Thorin grunted in irritation, air exhaling through his nose. He was tired, body wracked with exhaustion and adrenaline in equal measure. The sound of eerie singing, light and bizarre, rang through the quiet of the elf-town, setting his nerves on edge. Even the familiar deep and merry laughter and singing from the next room where his company resided could not block out the elvish wailing. 

He was sure that to elves and men the music would be considered pleasant, but it seemed to lack meaning and the tone wavered between sorrow and happiness. Dwarven songs were either merry or sorrowful, or else they told a story. They did not waste words and draw long on lines for foolish effect.

Of course he was only bemoaning the singing as he could fault the elves for naught else. Their hospitality had been fare and he grudgingly admitted that his company looked far better after a day’s rest and a good meal. Whilst it pricked like a thorn in his side he did feel grateful for the peace. 

At the moment though, none of it mattered. Not when his body was thrumming with the after-effects of adrenaline and anger. There were only a few ways he knew of to release that tension, two actually; a good fight or a hard fuck. Not wanting to be swamped with elvish guards, Thorin was loathe to instigate a spar with Dwalin or Gloin. And not desiring the rumours that might be ignited if he invited a dwarf away to bed meant fucking was also, sadly, off the list.

Well, not entirely. There were other methods, more _creative_ alternatives than bedding one of his company. Thorin huffed, surveying the room. The corridors were quiet and the sounds of merriment were still loud from the beyond the door. The room he was in was sparsely decorated, containing no more than a desk, a stool and a bed, covered with thin white cloth. He doubted he would be disturbed.

He fished the jar of salve from his pocket and began to disrobe, fabric meeting the stone floor with a soft thud and the clink of metal buckles. It was a warm night and the breeze blowing the curtains did not chill his naked skin. He sighed, the tension escaping him and leaving only the hot thrum of need in its wake. 

Thorin bends to retrieve his fallen sword, fist curled tight around the sheathed blade. Orcrist was truly a beautiful sword and a worthy instrument despite its origins. And its hilt was deliciously thick and smooth. Perfect for thrusting inside himself. His entrance clenched at the thought.

He leaves the pile of cloth, fur and leather where it lies on the floor and approaches the bed, jar and sword in hand. The softness of the bed is almost jarring after long weeks on the road with naught but hard ground to sleep upon. Thorin grumbles, kneeling on the coverlet and he lays Orcrist down, fiddling with the jar’s cork which seems reluctant to be parted.

The pop of release is especially gratifying and he moans as his fingers slide into the slick salve. The first finger to broach his entrance has him gasping, it has been far too long and he is impatient. A second finger soon follows, and he groans, his hips thrusting back. Thorin is not gentle, never has been with his own body, sliding in a third finger to stretch himself.

He curls and thrusts and scissors his fingers, biting his lip and grunting as the slight stings send heat forwards, his cock twitching. His left arm is already feeling the twinges of pain as it holds him up, left hand grasping the sheets below. Thorin groans, shoving all three fingers deep and spreading them. He’s ready and hungry.

Orcrist’s hilt is forked at the end, like some serpent’s tongue, and he shivers at the thought of how it will feel inside, his mind conjuring phantom sensations. Half of the jar is gone by the time he has the sword in his hand and he coats the hilt with the salve, the smooth wood glistening. He shoves the jar to one side, easing himself to his hands and knees awkwardly with his one free hand. He finds he cannot angle Orcrist with one hand, the sheathed blade too long and heavy and he shifts until his chest rests against the bed, his hips and arse tilted up as though in some obscene bow.

With two hands it is a little easier. His right guides the hilt, and thumbs his entrance open around the forked end. His left simply supports the blade and he grunts as it the hardness of wood slides inside him. It is thick and long, long enough that all of his large fingers can curl around it and there is still more wood to be gripped. Thorin pushes it in deeper and his hips jerk as the metal prong presses into his prostrate.

Whilst hardly a replacement for a partner, the feeling of fullness is a welcome pleasure he has long gone without. Thorin groans, body shuddering as he twists the sword, dragging it out a little before thrusting it back inside. It is hard work, his arms straining, but the pleasure, the harsh pressure, it feels _so good_...

...

Fili yawned, stretching his arms above his head and hearing a quiet crack from somewhere around his shoulder blades. Kili was fast asleep, snoring and drooling in the corner and he was bored. The corridor was empty when he checked, their laughter and squabbling having frightened away most of the elves. He hadn’t been through the other door and with look back at a drunken Bofur regaling the rest of the group with a story he made for the door, curiosity piqued. 

A sudden round of laughter blares out and blots out the sound of the doorknob turning. The room beyond is quiet and dark and Fili slips inside, turning to close the door behind him. In the silence he is suddenly aware of sounds; low grunts and moans and he turns to see his uncle’s form.

He cannot contain the sharp intake of breath at the sight. Thorin is pressed flat to the bed, his rear and feet facing him. Fili feels his jaw go slack as Thorin moans louder, his hands shoving his sword hilt into his slicked opening. He fumbled for the doorknob, unable to tear his eyes away. His palm bashed into the polished wood and Thorin froze at the sound.

“Who’s there? Speak!” Thorin’s voice shook with mortification and anger at the interruption, his stomach aching with the unresolved pleasure. He needed to turn, to right himself and face the dwarf who had discovered their so-called king on his knees fucking himself on his sword hilt.

Fili’s cheeks burned and he stuttered, heat coiling between his legs. “It’s Fili, I’m sorry to interrupt; I’ll go –ah-now.” And his hand fumbled for the knob again.

Thorin started, “Fili? What are you doing in here?” He attempted to sit up, but his wrists wobbled and Orcrist was shoved deeper and he ended up groaning into the cloth, hips jerking. 

Fili let out a whine at the sight and the sound, grip growing slack on the doorknob. Thorin sounded so desperate and needing and Fili had been watching his uncle in secret for so long... “I could help you with that Uncle.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, at once eager and afraid.

Thorin’s eyes widened and he shuddered from head to toe. “Fili, I do not think that would be-ungh-wise.” His voice was strained, the combined pressure of the hilt still buried inside him and the image of his handsome nephew causing him to groan. He could not, not with his sister’s son. He might have stared at the comely lad a few more times than he ought, and imagined him lacking his clothes many more times than was right, but he could not do _this_!

Fili knew his uncle was right but the shake in Thorin’s voice sent a deep thrum of heat down through his stomach to pool in between his thighs. He approached the bed; mind a mess of worry and need. “Thorin, you need it and I want to give it. Please?” If Thorin said no again he would leave.

Thorin shook, hearing his nephew’s approaching steps. The young dwarf’s words stoked the fire in his belly and he could hardly muster a feeling of regret when the hard hilt rubbed against his sweet spot as his wrist shook. “You must not tell your brother Fili, promise me this.” It was hard to make his voice sound commanding with his face pressed into the cotton fabric of an elvish bed and his arse up for display.

Fili swallowed, the wet sound loud in the quiet of the room. His throat felt dry. Kili would not understand and worst still would probably tell their mother... “You have my word Uncle. I shan’t talk to anyone of this night. Please let me touch you.” His hands were itching, his tongue sliding over his bottom when Thorin’s hands shook again, the sword hilt twisting and making his uncle rock with a groan.

Thorin groaned, legs shaking and he nodded his assent, letting out a deep breath of relief as Fili’s hands joined his on Orcrist, sliding the sword from his orifice. He let his hands slide forwards to rest at his sides, wrists and elbows aching from the weight of the elvish blade. Fili circled a thumb over his slicked opening and he grunted, pushing backwards and urging his nephew further. “Fili, _please._ ”

Fili felt a shaky sigh escape his chest, his heart pounding and the heat flaring bright within him in response to the need in Thorin’s voice. He located the jar of salve and undid the ties of his underclothes, the thin cloth falling around his ankles as he slicked his cock. Fili inwardly bemoaned how high these elvish beds were and took a hold of his uncle’s hips, tugging until Thorin was half-off the mattress and level with his now-slicked shaft.

Thorin let out a long, drawn out moan as Fili slide inside of him, the thickness of his nephew’s shaft perfect and filling. He gripped the sheets, hot breath heating the cloth as his face pressed into the bed. Fili gripped his thighs and thrust and Thorin could only groan, body to off-balance to truly reciprocate. Fili’s first thrusts are erratic and unsure and Thorin growls, “ _harder_ Fili.”

His nephew obeys him, fingers biting into the flesh of his thighs and his hips thrust hard and fast and hit their mark on every inward thrust. Thorin writhes, crying out, as Fili moans behind him, the pleasure spiking higher at every thrust. His body is on fire, cock rubbing against the thin cloth, hands gripping on for dear life as he is impaled again and again and he groans, back arching as pleasure overtakes him. White flashed behind his eyelids and his mouth bit into the sheet, hips rocking as he spent himself on the bed,

Fili soon follows him with a broken moan, hips rocking through completion, seed filling his uncle. He slows and stills his movements, a shaky sigh escaping him. Thorin was shuddering, panting and Fili kissed the space between his shoulder blades. He slid from within his uncle and Thorin pushed himself from the bed, stumbling as his feet hit the floor and his legs buckled beneath his weight.

Fili steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and Thorin turned to him, a smile curling on his lips. “You have my thanks Fili.” And Thorin drew his nephew into a kiss, hand curling around one of the young dwarf’s braids. 

 

_Fin._


	22. femKili/femDwalin - Genderswap, d/s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9990933#t9990933
> 
>  
> 
> _I don't care if it's one or both of them, I just need some genderbend lovin' for these two. Because it's my ultimate kink and there can never be too much genderbend, yeah?_
> 
>  
> 
> _My eternal love if fem!Kili loves seeing Dwalin's considerably larger hands wrapped around her thighs/wrists/hips/whatever, but she loves it even more when she gets to have total control over Dwalin and is able to drive him/her absolutely crazy._

**Warnings:** Genderswap, cunnilingus, fingering, bondage, bit of sub/dom, teasing/orgasm denial, ladies acting unladylike?

 

Kili hissed, teeth biting into her lower lip as she arched. Her hips shook as Dwalin nipped her outer labia, sending a tiny spark of pain through her. Dwalin suckled and soothed the area and Kili was reduced to pants and desperate groans as the larger dwarf slid her tongue into her slicked folds.

Dwalin chuckled as Kili gave a squeal, the deep sound rumbling from with her chest. She hoisted the smaller dwarf up a little, large hands wrapped easily around leaner thighs. No matter how much Kili struggled and writhed and bucked in pleasure and need, she couldn’t wrench herself out of Dwalin’s grasp. The taste of the younger dwarf was delicious, a sweet tang beneath the sour-ish flavour and Dwalin moaned into the slicked folds, tongue flicking over the soft folds with deft ease.

Kili grunted, tilting her head to look down at Dwalin between her thighs. It was an awkward angle and played havoc on her neck, the painful twinge already nibbling the back of her neck and shoulders. She groaned at the sight, hips jerking, Dwalin’s huge hands gripping her thighs, the thick fingers almost meeting around the flesh. 

Dwalin tilted her chin and met her eyes, the older dwarf grinning as she trailed the tip of her tongue languidly from her quivering entrance to her clit. The younger dwarf huffed, “Madam Dwalin, hurry it up would you? You always tease!” Kili felt herself throb, grinning like an impudent child. Dwalin’s eyebrows quirked up and she knew she’d pushed a button or two.

The older dwarf sat up and snorted, “impatient little brat... you shan’t have me tongue then.” She tugged Kili’s hips into her lap and pressed two thick fingers roughly inside her. She grinned at Kili’s yelp and thrust her fingers, rubbing her palm into the haired mound above the young dwarf’s folds.

Kili gripped the fabric of her tunic, spread out below her on the grass, fabric bunching and creasing in her fists. She rolled her hips and arched her back as Dwalin’s fingers slide deep inside, curling and hitting her g-spot with a knowing rub. She writhed but Dwalin’s single hand held her steady, the older dwarf much stronger than her. Kili loved it, loved the feeling of being held down and ravished.

Dwalin slipped her thumb between the folds and circled the clit, fingers sliding in and out. She tugged the smaller dwarf into a position less taxing on her wrist and met Kili’s eyes, the young dwarf’s eyes glazed with pleasure. “Feel good lass?”

Kili moaned at the husky tone in Dwalin’s voice, her body enflamed with need and tingly pleasure. “A-aye Dwalin.” Her own voice cracked, her body slipping ever closer to completion, heat staining her cheeks and flickering through her belly.

Dwalin groaned at the broken sound in the young lass’ voice, moving her hand hard, thumb rubbing against the clit in firm circles. Kili’s hips shifted, grinding up into her palm with circular movements, matching the ministrations on her clit. She revelled in the younger dwarf’s cries as her body climbed to its peak, jerking within her grasp. “ _Ngh_ , such a gorgeous lass...” 

Kili wailed in response, body arching, entrance clamping tight around Dwalin’s fingers as she came. Her vision blurred, heart thrumming in her chest and the beat matching the throbs between her legs, slick heat dripping over the thick fingers still buried within her. She met Dwalin’s gaze and grinned tiredly, “Your turn!”

Dwalin rolled her eyes, “Lass, we have been gone from the company long enough.” She would love to have that shapely mouth and cheeky tongue between her legs, but they just didn’t have time. She turned to look behind her, disliking the openness of these woods.

Kili rolled off of the older dwarf’s lap, sliding the thin length of rope from her breeches. Dwalin was still turned away, staring into the darkness as though expecting an attack at any moment. Possibly from a warg or Thorin. Possibly both. She grinned, darting forwards and wrapping the rope around Dwalin’s wrists, tying it tight before she had a chance to move.

Dwalin tore around, eyes wide with indignation “WHAT-” She struggled against the rope, but the awkward angle made it difficult. Kili was laughing, naked body shaking with mirth. Dwalin huffed, breath exhaling through her nostrils in anger. “What do you think you’re doing lass?” 

Kili grinned, flushing from her tousled hair down to her shins above her still booted feet. “It’s your turn Dwalin, you never let pleasure you. A curse on my Uncle’s beard if he won’t let me have you!” She pressed Dwalin back, hands on the older dwarf’s shoulders. “Please Dwalin, let me.”

Dwalin snorted, lying back and shifting her arms until they were raised above her head instead of trapped painfully behind her back. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving kind of mind lass, I can break free from these bonds.” Heat coils between her legs along with apprehension, she does not know if she truly wants to allow Kili free rein of her body.

Kili’s grin widens and she immediately leans forward to kiss Dwalin. “You’ll enjoy this, I promise.” Dwalin’s chest is bare, but she still wears her breeches and boots and Kili kisses a trail from her neck to the soft mounds of her breasts, suckling on each nipple in turn. Her hands fumble with the ties of her breeches and she enjoys the gasps and soft moans as she suckles and licks and gently nips at the nubs, the nipples hardening as she tugs on them gently with her teeth.

Dwalin groans, Kili’s mouth hungry, devouring her breasts. The brush of knuckles against her sex through the cloth as they untie her breeches has her gasping. She’s been wet and throbbing since they first stumbled into this clearing earlier that night, when she’d pinned Kili against a tree and ravished her mouth. Kili’s fingers are torturous, sliding down her breeches and slipping inside her folds.

Kili circles a hard nipple with her tongue, her fingers rubbing along that sensitive strip of skin between the engorged clit and dripping entrance. The base of her fingers rub along the clit and Dwalin groans, her hips shifting and bucking up into her questing fingers. Kili feels her body, still riding the high of the afterglow, twitch as heat flickers within. Dwalin looks beautiful, arching into her hands, her own bound and clenched into fists.

Dwalin gasps as Kili’s fingers give a sharp jerk, rubbing against her hard and quick before slowing once more into a languid slide. Her heart pounds and the throbbing heat curling through her feels overwhelming, body wanting. She feels Kili shift; the young dwarf fingers slipping out of her after one last harsh rub to grip her thigh, slick wetness cooling on the skin in the night air. Her other hand trails to thumb open her folds and Dwalin gives a shuddery sigh as a slick tongue slides inside her.

Kili can feel how Dwalin’s thighs are shaking. She’s so close already, and she’s barely touched her! The young dwarf grins, teasing her folds with feather-light flicks, her fingers stroking the strong thighs. Wetness slicks the scruffy excuse for a beard on her chin and she chuckles as Dwalin growls in need and frustration.

Dwalin feels her stomach clench almost painfully. She has teased Kili like this many times, but on the receiving end it is torture. Her body wants, writhing and throbbing and her heart pounding within her chest. But the light flicks of the tongue do nothing but sensitise her clit and tease her folds. “Kili.” She won’t beg.

Kili does not show her mercy, tongue withdrawing to lap at her out labia and she nuzzles into the curls around her sex. “Yeees?” her tone is almost sing-song, full of glee and underlined with arousal. She trails her tongue around the outside of Dwalin’s trembling folds, avoiding touching them directly. “Did you want something Dwalin?”

Her older companion glares down between her thighs and meets Kili’s mischievous smirk. The lass slips her hand up, rubbing a slow circle just above her clit and Dwalin can feel the movement, the heat of her thumb and she groans. “Kili please, _Mahal_ just touch me-!”

Kili gives a breathy laugh and buries her head between Dwalin’s thighs, sucking and licking and devouring her. She does not slow, suckling on the clit as her fingers slip into the throbbing entrance, sliding in and out roughly as Dwalin groans. The older dwarf lets out a strangled cry, her back arching as she comes, clenching down on her fingers. Kili gives gentle licks to soothe her as she pants and gasps, shuddering as the waves of pleasure ebb away.

Dwalin opens her eyes and finds Kili grinning up at her, one hand on her thigh, still grasping the flesh possessively, the other propping her chin up. The younger dwarf chuckles, “We should do this again some time.” Dwalin rolls her eyes and a smile curls at her own lips. Perhaps, if Thorin is not furious at their disappearance.

 

_Fin._


	23. Fem!Thorin/Bilbo - First Orgasm, Cunnilingus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt summary: _Fem!Thorin has never had an orgasm before, because she didn't know there was such a thing (dwarves don’t concentrate on female pleasure). Bilbo amends this._
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11078626#t11078626

(BOFA-AU Everybody lives. And gets laid.) 

 

“What do you mean, women cannot do that? Of course they can.” Bilbo frowned, watching the back of Thorin’s head, her face turned away to gaze out of the window. His confusion did nothing to quench the desire he felt for her, her strong but curved figure accentuated by the thin tunic she wore.

Thorin sighed and glanced back at him over her shoulder, though her palm remained fixed to the wall and her shoulders hunched defensively. “Only men can experience such things, women do not have the need. You must be mistaken.” She ignored the flare of heat through her as she watched his chest rise and fall, his shirt unbuttoned to the last button under his navel, only a tiny patch of hair between his nipples.

Bilbo shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that dwarf women cannot experience pleasures of the flesh, I have never met a women yet who was unable, although most need a different touch than a man. I could never learn to pleasure a woman from my own body.” He chuckled, his breeches becoming tighter as he remembered many of his explorations with comely hobbit lasses in his youth. He ached to show Thorin the pleasure those lovely Shire ladies had shown him.

Thorin grumbled, at once irritated and disbelieving of the hobbit’s certainty. “I have lain with many, and always it has been unpleasant. I will lay with you, but only you will feel pleasure.” She swallowed, though not in fear. She felt a painful twist in her stomach and her sex clenched, anticipating the uncomfortable jarring it would soon experience as Bilbo thrust inside her.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, “Lay down, I’m going to show you what you have been missing.” He pats the bed with his palm, leaning against the coverlet without sitting down. The bed was, in fact, a bit too high for him and took a fair bit of clambering up at night but, that was hardly of importance now.

Thorin chucked dryly, shaking her head with a small smile, “You are ridiculously determined Master Baggins. And impertinent, expecting the Queen of Erebor to lie down for you.” His sheepish blush at her words helps ease some of the anxiety brewing in her stomach and she approaches the bed. With deft fingers she strips to her undergarments, a simple pale gown that reached her knees.

Bilbo kisses her, fingers fumbling the ties at the front of her undergown and sliding the fabric down her shoulders. He moves to her neck, lips pressing feverish kisses to the skin beneath her beard, to the dark curls just below her clavicle. Her breath becomes hitched and he feels his breeches become tighter. Her hands grip his shoulders and a finger and thumb pinch and tease the sensitive tip of his ear, drawing a low moan from his throat. His palms cup her breasts, fingers tweaking the darkened pink nipples.

Thorin enjoys the touch, the caresses sending sparks of pleasure through her body, sliding to her stomach. This part has always been enjoyable, up until the point a male dwarf would squeeze too hard or vigorously and make them oversensitive to touch. Bilbo does not, giving one nipple a gentle suckle and its neighbour a simple tweak before kissing the space between her breasts, lips buried into the dark curls. Thorin moans, feeling heat flicker within her as the hobbit’s lips press a trail from her breasts to her navel.

Bilbo’s fingers press to her hips and thighs, caressing and stroking and Thorin groans as his fingers dig into the space where her hips join her thighs. She shivers as they slide to her inner thighs, sliding through the thick curls without touching her entrance. The feel of his mouth on the tangle of curls above her folds makes her sit up “What-“

Bilbo grins and presses her back with a hand, “just lay back, trust me, you’ll like this.” He feels her abdomen tremble and peers up to meet her widened eyes and reddened cheeks. At the first touch of his tongue she starts again and he presses a hand into hers, teasing the folds with his tongue. She wet, but not much and now he can imagine why she might not have enjoyed her previous bed partners. She’s delicious, tangy and trembling under his mouth.

Thorin is startled at the first press of something slick against her and then she cannot control her body as it twitches and trembles. The flicks of Bilbo’s tongue against the upper part of her entrance has her gasping, her body suddenly throbbing and her thighs quivering. 

Sparks of pleasure thrummed through her and her fingers clutched at the sheets, her back arching as he continued. Nothing with her previous partners had ever felt like this. “What are you- Oh!” She jerked as his thumb slid to tease her upper folds, his tongue teasing the hole inside her. Her mouth fell open with a cry and she felt the pleasure building, tingles running up her spine and through her shaking thighs.

“Just let it come, don’t worry.” His words were slurred and muffled against her and she clutched at his hand, body hurtling towards something, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. Cries escaped her at every fast lick and flick of his tongue and the fingers teasing her. Thorin felt herself shake; every inch of her body tingling and she felt a twist in her stomach, the pressure and heat suddenly exploding. Lights burst behind her eyelids and she screamed, body jerking and everything alight with mind-numbing pleasure.

Bilbo kept sliding his tongue as Thorin’s hips jerked and her thighs cradled his cheeks. She throbbed beneath his lips, trembling and clutching at his tongue possessively. Her shaky moans and trembles began to ebb, and with a last flick he looked up. Her body was shivering, her head thrown back as she panted and gasped harshly, as though hungry for air. 

Her flushed body slipped boneless into the covers and he moaned at the sight of her. She was beautiful, all harshness exiled as she lay with her mouth open in a gasp and when her eyes met his they were glazed. “You’re so beautiful.” He was close to panting himself and his words were choked with arousal.

Thorin gave one last shivering sigh before she struggled up onto her elbows. Her body had slid from blinding pleasure to soft, delicious warmth and she felt ridiculously content, an easy smile gripping her lips. “Mister Baggins, I believe I owe you an apology. It appears you have a better understanding of my body than I do myself. I do hope you wish to share more?” She chuckled as he flushed with a rather sheepish grin.

“I think that could be arranged, your majesty.”

 

_Fin._


	24. Thranduil/Thorin - Noncon, Spider gag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thranduil puts a ring or spider gag on Thorin and fucks the dwarf King’s throat_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=13909949#t13909949

**Warnings:** Bondage (chains, rope, gags), oral, noncon, size difference, involuntary arousal

 

Thorin growled, trying to wrench his head away as the elf guards held him and tugged at his jaw, pressing a thick circle of metal between his teeth. It did nothing to save him, the elves’ hands firm and efficient and he scowled, face flushed as leather was tied around the back of his head.

The bonds around his wrists, elbows and short length of chain connecting his ankles allowed him to do no more than stand. He had already tested the rope around his arms and found it to be almost painfully tight, allowing him only a little movement before the rope chafed his skin. When the elves were satisfied, they pulled him, despite his struggles, to connect the chain at his ankles to the wall.

Thranduil strolled in, face only vaguely hinting the smugness his body exuded. Thorin felt spit trickle down his lip, tongue fighting the metal between his lips. He swore, the words gurgled and mangled as the elf king laughed, dismissing the guards with a smile and a flick of his wrist.

Thranduil approached him, cupping his face in mockery of a tender caress, “Poor little dwarf, does this hurt you? Perhaps if you had not been so defiant this could have been more pleasant.” His tone was deceptively sweet, as though he spoke to a child, but a harshness bubbled beneath the surface. A warning. Thorin cursed the elf again, though his words were unintelligible, and he glared, eyes bright with hate.

The elf snorted and pressed the metal digging into his lips and cheeks harshly with his thumb. “Your mouth would do well with a new purpose, one that is more useful than simply spitting insults.” With no more words, the elf removed his robe, the garment tied around the waist and at the collar. Underneath he wore a plain tunic and breeches and it was the ties of the breeches his fingers sought next.

Thorin felt his eyes widen. Surely the elf jested? The sight of the elf’s hardened shaft had him struggling anew. Never would he submit to such a thing! Thranduil gripped his hair, holding him place and he grunted, spit dribbling down his chin as he tried to escape the elf king’s hold. He could not and the elf held his head still as he pushed his shaft into the metal ring within his mouth.

Thorin felt himself gag, the long shaft, longer than a dwarf’s, hitting the back of his throat as the elf sunk deep. His back arched, feet scuffing the floor as he attempted to escape. It was no use, Thranduil’s hands only tightened, the elf’s slender hips pulling back to thrust inwards again. He swallowed, choking a little on both the length and his own saliva at the elf continued.

Thranduil groaned and Thorin looked up to see the elf’s head was thrown back in pleasure. His pale hair slipped from his shoulders, exposing the creamy flesh of his neck. He felt his own shaft twitch at the sight and felt his face redden. He shifted his thighs, but could do nothing to hide the hardening of his own length.

Thranduil paused, head of his shaft held just between Thorin’s lips and with a shaky sigh he cupped Thorin’s face. “You-you should not be as tempting as you are dwarf...” He pants, face flushed and he slid in, slowly, eyes on Thorin’s as his shaft disappeared between metal and wet, reddened lips.

Thorin swallowed, trying not to gag, refusing to look away from Thranduil’s gaze. The elf’s thighs shook and he groaned, hands tangling into Thorin’s hair. His hips canted harder and harder, pressing the metal of the gag into Thorin’s face and he was shocked by the heat curling within his belly, his shaft hard and aching.

With a cry the elf peaked, hands gripping Thorin’s face tight and shaft twitching, filling his mouth the bitter taste of seed. Thorin gagged, moaning, hips twitching as Thranduil shook. The elf gave one last moan before withdrawing and Thorin groaned, mouth and throat sore from the onslaught.

Thranduil looked dishevelled, hair tangled and slicked with sweat, his eyes glazed with pleasure. He knelt, smug smile returning as Thorin glared. His palm slid from Thorin’s chest down to his belly and Thorin groaned around the gag as the elf king took him in hand. Thranduil’s voice was hungry as he spoke, “I believe it is your turn to come undone dwarf.”

End.


	25. Tauriel/Thranduil - Figging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=15064439#t15064439
> 
> _Figging, anyone? For those of you who don't know what it is, here's urbandictionary to help you along; http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=figging_
> 
> _Seriously, anything._

(Before this fandom, I had never heard of figging. Being the person I am, I decided to try it before I wrote this fill. I… think I may have a new kink.)

 

 **Warnings:** Het, D/s, BDSM; bondage, figging, pain-play, anal, orgasm denial

 

Thranduil tugged at his bonds, the thin rope strong, holding fast and pinning his arms, legs and ankles to the bed. The elf king’s back arched, pale knees pressing into equally pale sheets, hair falling about his neck and teasing his jaw with soft caresses.

Tauriel laughed, one of her slender fingers drawing his chin up to meet her dark eyes. “Struggle all you wish my Lord, you know my knots never unravel.” Her fingers moved, sliding from his jaw to his shoulder, his bare skin burning, flushed under her hand. She tweaked his ear, fingers pinching the sensitive tip, a groan torn from his lips as his hips jerked, shaft hard and desperate.

She slips out of sight, hand trailing down his spine; fingers pressing, feather-light, between the cleft of his buttocks and he feels himself clench. There is the sound of a knife unsheathing and he tenses. “Tauriel?” They have played with a knife once before, as the scars almost long faded on his thighs could testify, and he found it not much to his liking.

Her deep laugh rings out, husky with arousal. “Calm yourself my Lord, it is for the ginger root, not your flesh.” And the slice of the root has his shuddering, his breath becoming harsh and fast. His entrance clenches, anticipating the ginger.

Tauriel’s fingers are swift and sure with a blade, and soon there is the squeak of the root being rounded and the metallic thud of the knife being set down. Thranduil whimpers as her fingers spread the globes of his buttocks, teasing his entrance with the tip of the root. “Come my Lord, do you desire this?”

A shuddering sigh escapes him, his thighs shaking. “Please, please Lady Tauriel, I need it…” The words are barely out before the cool ginger is pressed inside. He gasps and they are both still, waiting.

Heat builds, the tingling sting flaring within him, and he cries out, jerking. His shaft twitches, face flushing a deeper hue as the hot stinging reaches a higher peak. His entrance throbs, clenching around the root possessively.

Tauriel caresses him, her hands cool compared to the heat of the sting, pinching at nipples, pressing thumbs into shuddering thighs. Her lips and tongue map his spine, working up to the back of his neck, and then down to the cleft of his buttocks, pressing a kiss to the twitching hole, tasting the ginger with a moan.

Her fingers trace his inner thighs, avoiding his hard shaft and he groans. His breath is erratic, caught on the pleasure-pain within him, the need filling his body and mind. “Please, I beg of you.” His words are broken, gasping whines that hardly befit the woodland crown on the nightstand next to the bed.

A single fingertip slides up his shaft, ever so slowly. “My Lord, what is it you need?” The finger slides down, just as slow, teasing him and making him twitch, seed beading at the tip and catching on her finger.

Thranduil whines, body writhing. The hot-coolness of the ginger is harsh; sending sparks pain and pleasure through his thighs and belly. “Lady Tauriel, touch me please.” Her finger continues its slow, light journey, leaving no satisfaction in its wake and he begs, “Let me come, please!”

Her chuckle is breathless and her fingers slip between his legs, entrapping him in firm heat. Her other hind clasps his buttocks, thumb pressing the ginger root in.

Only a few firm jerks of her hand and he cries out, back arching as he reaches his peak. His entrance clenches hard around the root and the fresh sting has the twinge within his belly sharpening, seed bursting out of him to stain the sheets.

Tauriel continues her caress, pressing a hard kiss to his hip as he rocks within her grasp. And she kisses his thigh as he collapses onto his arms, hips still arched upwards, his body shaking and his chest heaving with every gasp and pant.

Clever fingers slip the root from within him and he shudders at the empty heat. She murmurs, voice soft as she cleanses his entrance with a warm cloth, easing some of the sting.

End.


	26. Bifur/Bilbo – Animalistic Bifur, Biting, Dub-con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After the deliciously dirty Bifur/Kili scene in one of the "Kili as everyone's sexual fulfiller" fills I want more animalistic mute desperate Bifur porn._
> 
> _Bifur/ANYONE. Bifur can't ask, so he shows. Or just... does._
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1698246#t1698246

(Writing porn is a good distraction from the stitches in my mouth. Damn wisdom teeth.)

 

**Warnings:** animalistic Bifur, starts out dub-con-ish, biting, frot, ear-kink

 

Bilbo shuffled the twigs in his arms, cursing as several fell to the forest floor. The evening was growing dark and he had no desire to be away from camp longer than strictly necessary. He was bending down to retrieve the fallen branches when a twig snapped loudly behind him and he jerked around.

Bifur is hunched by a tree, eyes wide. Bilbo stiffens, Bifur is a rather frightening individual, all grunts and growls and that axe in his forehead is very unsettling indeed. He smiles nervously, nods in greeting and turns back to the pile of sticks at his knees.

He hears Bifur move, the crunch and slide of leaves and then, rather suddenly, there is a heavy thump as the dwarf drops to his knees. Right up against Bilbo’s back, his thick fingers gripping his shoulders tight. The hobbit feels his eyes widen and looks over his shoulder, up into Bifur’s furry, unreadable face. “Mister Bifur, did you want something?” his voice is breathy, worried and Bilbo winces.

Bifur mutters something, but Bilbo cannot understand it. The dwarf grunts, tugging Bilbo back, pressing their bodies as close together as possible. Bilbo gasps, struggling, furred toes scrabbling in the leafy earth and Bifur growls, holding him still. The dwarf’s mouth descends on his neck, licking and sucking and biting and Bilbo yelps, garbled speech escaping his throat.

The hobbit gasps once more as Bifur’s mouth suckles it’s way to his ear, hard teeth nibbling at the sensitive tip. Heat coils between his legs and he whimpers, back arching against the larger dwarf. Bifur grunts, breath huffing out through his nose as Bilbo stops struggling and his hands grip the hobbit’s jacket, tugging insistently.

Bilbo hesitates, he should tell Bifur to stop, he barely knows the dwarf and it’s just not _proper_ , but Bifur sucks hard on his ear and his fingers rub between his thighs and Bilbo shudders, groaning. He helps Bifur remove his jacket and waistcoat and nearly loses the button on his shirt when Bifur tugs urgently with a growl, hips rocking against his rear.

Those teeth find their way to his neck and bare shoulders, biting hard and Bilbo whines, the pain stoking the fire in his belly. Bifur shuffles back, twisting Bilbo until he’s lying back against the ground, flushed and half-naked and bite marks reddening across the creamy skin of his neck and shoulders. The hobbit trembles, Bifur pressing their foreheads together, breathing harshly against Bilbo’s panting mouth before he shifts, biting at Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo groans, rocking upwards, his hands grasping at Bifur’s still-clothes shoulders. Bifur grunts, moans deep and low, holding Bilbo down as he thrusts. Pleasure and heat fill the hobbit’s body and he whimpers, nails in as they rut. Bifur’s eyes are bright and his tongue licks over Bilbo’s lips as they groan together.

“Ah, Bifur, _please_ , ah” the words fall from his lips amid gasps and breathy cries and Bifur answers them with grunts and growls and choked moans. The dwarf’s rhythm has become fast and erratic, jerking desperately against Bilbo’s smaller frame and Bilbo’s hands tangled in Bifur’s hair, biting at the dwarf’s braids.

Bifur succumbs first, grinding down into Bilbo with a sharp jabs of his hips, his mouth open in a howl, the desperate sound ebbing into breathy whines as he slows. Bilbo follows soon after with a sobbing groan, pressing his face into Bifur’s beard, hips shuddering as he reaches his peak.

They lay in a sprawl of damp limbs for several long moments, panting in the gloom. A call of their names rings out from the direction of the camp and they jerk up, Bifur nipping Bilbo’s ear once more before leaving without another glance.

Bilbo shakes as he pulls on his jacket, glad it covers the damp spot at his crotch. His ear still tingles from Bifur’s teeth and he cannot deny that if the dwarf comes to him again, he won’t give in to that wild touch.

 

End.


	27. Balin/Various - 5 Times Balin Experimented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=14613623#t14613623
> 
> _Dwarves, Men, Elves, and even Hobbits - Balin has sampled from all that Middle Earth has to offer. Whether this comes up during a campfire discussion amongst the company regarding mixed marriages, or Balin keeps running into old lovers along the course of the quest, or we have a five times sort of story, it doesn't matter to me. I'd just love to see something where Balin has bucked the insular trend of his people and has pulled in every port._

**Warnings:**   
Part 1: Balin/Male OC, frot, rough-sex  
Part 2: Balin/Female OC, vaginal intercourse, size difference  
Part 3: Balin/Female OC, anal play, handjob, cunnilingus  
Part 4: Balin/Male OC, drunk, dub-con, rough-sex, size difference  
Part 5: Balin/Male and Female OC, threesome

 

**Dwarf**

As with most dwarves, if not all, the coming of age ceremony resulted in intoxication and tumbling. Balin’s was no exception. He banged a fist on the table, laughing uproariously at a joke his companions had shared. From across the table his eyes met the handsome dwarrow who had been openly admiring his beard, newly fully-grown and a light brown, all evening. The dwarrow, only a few years older, was a fine warrior, all muscle and fierce braids and a grin that made heat spiral through him like lightning.

Only a short while later, when his friends were distracted, Balin slipped away. Footsteps followed him and in the dimness of a disused tunnel, his lips were captured by a rough mouth, strong hands pressing him into the stone wall. Calloused fingers tore beneath thick cloth and they rutted, the dwarrow’s hips pressed between his thighs, rocking hard and urgently. Balin groaned, panting, breathless and hungry, body revelling in the rough touch.

A bite to his neck, a hand groping his arse and a harsh thrust and he reached his peak, broken cry escaping past gritted teeth. Hot wetness, shudders up and down his spine and the grunt into the sweaty skin of his neck as the dwarrow joins him in bliss.

 

**Maiden**

She’s nervous, all flushed cheeks and tangled braids trailing around her shoulders, dress plain and tight, exposing the delicious mounds of her breasts. Balin smiles, reassuringly, hands cupping her breasts and she gasps, biting her lip. He tugs the ties of her bodice, tugging at thin fabric carefully. Not like the roughness of dwarves, all soft and almost-hairless.

He presses her back against the bed and suckles at hardening pink nipples, her gasps harsh in his ears. Her skirts are rolled up, his thick hips pressing against the soft roundness of her own. They cradle his, her sex wet and trembling beneath his fingers. So tight, barely able to stand even two of his thick fingers before she whimpers, hips twitching and voice hoarse.

She holds his shoulders when he takes her, his mouth on her breast. He cannot look her in the eye, so unlike the tumbles of dwarves, but her cries are enough to tell him of her pleasure. The trembles and throbs around his shaft when she reaches her end wrench a choked moan from his lips, heat as he spends within her.

 

**Elf**

Her hands are smooth, firm but not firm enough. Simply knowing as they run from his shoulders down to his thighs, spreading the sweet-smelling oil. They slide in circles, pressing into his aching back with a practiced ease. Her lips press aginst his shoulder, fingers sliding between his thighs, cupping the hardness that presses into the sheets.

He groans, praising her, and she laughs, the sound like a bell tinkling. Soft kisses are bestowed upon him as the hands move, one on the hard length of his shaft, the other curling to tease and stroke against his entrance. This, at least, is familiar, though less rough than a dwarrow or dwarven lass.

Later, when he is spent and sluggish, he tastes her, tongue delighting in her flavour and whispered cries. The lack of hair is disconcerting, her mound hairless, but the taste is so similar to any dwarf maiden and the rock of her hips begs him for more.

 

**Orc**

As with many of his regrets, it began with drinking. Too much ale and he had been chuckling as he left the inn, stumbling down the lane and into the darkened wood. Hands had grabbed him, a knife against his throat and a mouth nipping at his ear. 

Hands had torn at his cloak, tugging down his breeches and, almost too drunk to care, he had slicked his own fingers, preparing himself. The stranger growled as he pushed harshly, hilting himself within and Balin had groaned, hands clutching at the bark of a tree as his hips were lifted.

Growls and grunts and curses were hissed into his ear as he was taken, his body shoved backwards and forwards as the stranger thrust. He had come far too soon, body overcome, clenching around the invading length. Hard ruts and then a strangled howl and Balin had turned to find an orc panting against him, eyes bright before it fled with only a sneer and what sounded like a compliment in the black speech.

 

**Hobbits**

He has never visited the Shire before this quest. Two nights he has before their arranged meeting and the hobbit couple who have kindly offered him their hospitality are fascinating. Smaller and more delicate than dwarves, soft around the middle with delicious roundness at the chest and thighs, even the lads. Their fluffy feet are odd but rather comely, a welcome change to the hairlessness of elves.

The maiden blushes as he undresses her, her round little body flushed with excitement and embarrassment. Her husband wears much the same expression, such odd little creatures with strict understanding of propriety and tumbling. A little ale and some of his tales had them curious and a few deep kisses had them tugging him to their bed.

He takes them both, making love to the lass slowly and carefully whilst the lad takes him, slicked with butter. Not as slow and sensual as elves, but loving and giggly, as he discovers after they lie in the afterglow. She kisses him and her husband hardens within him and this time it is rougher, fast and hungry and Balin is gasping by the end.

By the seventh round, his shaft buried deep within the flushed hobbit lad and her folds throbbing beneath his tongue, he gasps a desperate plea, body exhausted.

Hobbits might be the smallest of creatures, but their stamina far surpasses any other race.


	28. Bofur\Bombur:  Incest, Public spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Um.........I have no idea why, but I have this mental image of Bofur giving Bombur a spanking that I can't get out of my head. Does anyone want to write a fic about that?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Maybe Bofur does not want to punish Bombur in such a way, but some weird and old as balls rule says that he has to do it. And they are both embarrassed when it gets them hot and bothered in front of the company._
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=15700599#t15700599

**Warnings;** Incest, public spanking, humiliation, pain-kink, unwanted arousal, hand-free orgasm

 

“Bombur, for your crime of consuming the last of the Company’s rations, you will receive thirty-five beats. Your brother shall carry out this punishment whilst the Company watches, as retribution for their hunger.” Thorin’s voice is rough with anger, a deep growl that set Bombur’s stomach twisting with fear. What an utter fool he had been, giving in to his own desires, the unquenchable hunger that overtook him sometimes.

He avoids looking past Thorin’s dark glare, did not want to meet the anger and disapproving gazes that were surely directed at him from his Dwarvish and hobbit companions. He does not speak as he is directed to the log, tugged over it with his stomach pressed into the bark, his fingers gripping moss and dirt. The stares burn into the back of his thighs and he trembles as Bofur tugs down his breeches with a murmured reassurance, tempered with annoyance.

The first smack is a shock, the only warning the rustle of Bofur’s shirt and then the loud smack of flesh hitting flesh and a startled yelp escapes him. Again, another slap and he hisses at the sting, back arching against the hand holding him down. Bofur mutters a sympathetic ‘there’s a good lad’ between counts and Bombur can hear the embarrassed, unhappy note in his older brother’s voice.

The sting grows into a flaring pain as the hard slaps continue and the humiliation, the low chuckles and snorts from the rest of the company, make his chest hurt, his throat becoming tight with every grunt and stifled yelp.

“Twelve,” _smack!_ “thirteen,” _smack!_ and another, heavy and sore, “fourteen, there now, almost halfway.” Bofur pauses to rub his sore rump and Bombur flushes deeper in embarrassment, not since he was a young dwarfling has he suffered this punishment, though it is a common one for low offenses. His brother hits less hard than their mother had, but then his over-eating had been much more frequent and more a problem when coin was in short supply.

Bofur slaps him again and Bombur hisses, his feet scuffling in the dirt, boots scraping through the grass as his hips try to shift away. They have reached eighteen, Bofur’s voice lacking his all usual cheer. His palm lands lower, fingers slipping too far down and there is a sting on his inner thigh. It is distracting and he yelps, bark digging into his arms through the cloth of his shirt.

His brother’s hand continues, having shifted a little to relieve his stinging buttocks and Bombur whimpers as the thick fingers continue to tap almost between his legs. The light sting melts to a tingle, making him shake as heat spreads, from soft thighs to his belly and his face is as red as clay, skin burning like a flame.

“Ah! Brother please!” His words are choked, desperate and there are jeers from the company at his weakness. He grunts as Bofur’s fingers still, palm pressed to his left buttock.

“Thirty-five beats Bofur, you have only given twenty-one.” Thorin’s voice warrants no protest and there is only a short pause before the hand pressed against him draws back and smack back.

There is no mistaking the heat now, the tingles and flares of need that lick from between his thighs. He gasps at each new slap, his body shaking and at a particularly harsh whack he cries out, hips jerking up into the Bofur’s fingers and his brother’s rhythm wavers, Bofur breathing in sharply.

“Twenty-four,” _smack!_ Bofur’s voice is strained, his brother pressing close against him, the hand on his back trailing a thumb. “Twenty-five,” _smack!_ and Bofur’s fingers slip ever lower and his palm hits the gorge, just above the hidden entrance and he groans, trying to hide it behind gritted teeth.

There is a deliberate dig of fingers into the cleft as Bofur moves his hand back and Bombur can hear his brother’s heavy breathing, imagine the flush on those dimpled cheeks. The smacks come harder, dragging yelps and choked groans from his throat, his back arching. He feels his shaft twitch, pressed against the the log and even with the scratch of rough bark he throbs with need.

“Thirty,” _smack!_ Bofur releases a choked sound, his pace quickening and Bombur rocks under the hits, tingles overtaking him.

 

“Thirty-one,” the slap has him jerking, whimpers escaping his mouth.

 

“Thirty-two,” the heat is building, his legs shuddering, his heart hammering.

 

“Thirty-three,” he bites back a cry, Bofur’s voice near panting, his hands harsh.

 

“Thirty-four,” the tightening in his stomach is unmistakable and Bombur feels himself gasp, hips rocking.

 

“Thir-thirty-five,” the last hit is the hardest, shoved almost between his thighs and he yelps, his vision blurring as he writhes, shaft twitching as it spills his seed over hard bark. Bofur rubs his back as he shakes and pants, suddenly aware of their audience once more.

Bofur presses forwards, slipping a rough cloth around his waist to clear the seed from the company’s prying eyes. “There now lad, let’s get those breeches back up.” Bombur shivers as his older brother’s fingers brush against his skin as they retie his breeches and he is glad that the rest of the Company have busied themselves by the time he pulls himself up from the log, unsteady on his feet.

 

End.


	29. Dwalin/Ori - Ori is a priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ori's a newly appointed young priest in a monestary because Dwarves have monasteries now, okay? And he's studious and pious and his oldest brother couldn't be prouder._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _But then Ori sees Dwalin and it's like a flip has been switched. He thought celibacy was easy, but that was before this warrior stould before him._
> 
>  
> 
> _Ori performs a confession with Dwalin, and Dwalin, feeling naughty, explicitly tells him about the things he wants to do to this "innocent young lad that shall not be named"._
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11084770#t11084770

**Warnings:** Religion/religious elements, innocence/naivety, corruption, mockery of ‘confession’, dirty talk, unwanted arousal, mutual masturbation

 

The monastery was grand; a great structure of stone, carved into the very mountain itself. Four long spires rose from above the chapel, as though reaching to touch through the mountain’s surface. The figure of Mahal, hewn from stone, stood at the oaken doors, towering over all but the tallest spires. The Great Maker was both impressive and imposing, the offering slate at his feet adorned with precious gems, blessing charms and the first creations of young smiths and apprentices; weapons and other fine metal work.

Ori knelt at the statue’s feet, laying sprigs of sweet-smelling rosemary and lavender around the offering slate. He signed the iglishmek respectful acknowledgment, head bowed as his hands moved. He had only been assigned this task in the past few days, new as he was to the monastery. 

Dori had been ever so proud, his usually-stern eyes welling with tears of joy when the high priests had deemed him worthy. It was a great honour to be a devout follower and servant to the Great Maker. Ori could still feel the slight bruising on his shoulders and back from Dori’s strong embrace as he left him with the priests.

Above his head, the two great bells began to ring. Startled, Ori almost jumped. He needed to hurry; the morning rituals and prayers would soon begin. The cleansing bowls, for the traditional cleansing of hands and beards, still had to be placed in the chapel and adjoining prayer hall before the high priests began. 

Ori stood, adjusting his robes carefully, braids falling about his ears. A hand suddenly gripping his shoulder had him whirling around with a yelp. There, towering over him stood a huge guardsman. The hand slipped from his shoulder and Ori shivered, taking in the guardsman’s appearance. Tall, all bulging muscles and ink, tattoos adoring his forehead and knuckles. Two heavy axes strapped to his back made Ori’s knees wobble, his eyes wide as the guard’s knuckles cracked.

The guard shifted, brow rising. “Dwalin, at your service.” He bowed curtly, eyes not leaving Ori for a moment, even as he rose and fell. “Where can I find the high priest Tregnan?”

Ori saw the muscles in the guard’s forearms flex and felt, much to his surprise, heat lick through him. The guardsman’s voice was gruff and thick with an accent that sent a tingle up his spine. He imagined his own name spoken from those lips and flushed. What were these peculiar feelings? They made him run hot and cold, feeling dizzy. He shook his head, voice cracking horribly when he answered the guard, “O-Ori at your service sir. He is inside the chapel; shall I lead you to him?”

Dwalin’s eyes assessed him before he nodded. Ori fidgeted, wringing his hands as they walked, Dwalin’s heavy footsteps thudding behind him. Most of his fellow monks were already within the chapel and so the long corridors were near-deserted. The remaining few stared as he shuffled past, feeling the guard’s deep eyes burning into his back. Ori felt his cheeks redden; he was late and would certainly be reprimanded later for abandoning his tasks.

Relief filled him when the great archway into the chapel came into view, runes carved into the rock by artisans and stonemasons long since passed into the next realm. The hall was beautiful, an intricately carved ceiling high above the stone slabs of the floor. Around the edges of the hall were several alters adorned with the customary ritual tools and herbs. Thick cloth mats, embroidered with symbols of their faith were laid across the floor ready for the morning prayers.

The bells rang once more and the monks each knelt on a prayer mat. Ori cringed, he must not interrupt the prayer or his punishment would be severe. He turned to apologise to the guardsman. “I am sorry sir, but you will need to wait until the prayer ceremonies are finished...” His voice sounded so small.

Dwalin shrugged, head tilting in contemplation. “Might I join ye lad until it’s over?”

Ori blinked at the unexpected request, his heart beating harder and faster. “I-yes? We need to bow on the prayer cloths.” He waited until Dwalin nodded before leading the guard to the few mats empty at the back of the gathering.

Ori was painfully aware of the guardsman’s heavy breaths, his huge form bending as he knelt on the cloth, the mat almost disappearing beneath him. He did not look up from the pattern of Mahal’s hammer embroidered on his cloth, though he could feel the eyes of his fellow monks as they turned in confused curiosity.

Dwalin was a distracting presence, though he did nothing to warrant being so. He was as quiet and as respectful as any of the priests and monks as the high priests spoke each prayer and presented offerings to Mahal. Ori nearly bit through his lip, his mind a whirl as the warrior’s smell; leather and blade oil and musk, overwhelmed his senses. His heart was racing, his stomach much too warm and there were pictures in his mind, terrible things. Sinful things.

He tried to block them, make them disappear. No, no more thoughts of thick fingers, palms sliding from his shoulders to his chest, sliding down... Ori stifled a whimper, his body shaking as he tried to pay attention, listen for the priest’s words. He spoke a hasty apology to the Great Maker in his mind, begging for forgiveness and he dug his nails into his palms, distracting himself from the guard beside him.

Prayer seemed to last for hours, a test of endurance rather than the peaceful time it usually was. Most days it was a lovely reaffirmation of his faith, of feeling useful and close to their Great Maker. Now it felt as though he was lying, sinning even as he sat. It was a relief when the gong was clashed and the ritual was ended. 

He led Dwalin to Tregnan and the guard patted his shoulder with a smirk. He fled, his face aflame and body all-a-tingle. He confessed to the Prior of his lateness and how he had not finished his appointed task. The dwarf, his silver beard braided into the customary three hoops nodded and told him pray for forgiveness, speaking of Mahal’s understanding and how his infraction was only minor and had not halted the rituals.

 

\--

 

Weeks passed and life in the monastery was peaceful and carefully structured. Ori slipped carefully into the routines and tried not to daydream when idle.

He spent days wondering about the guardsman. At odd moments he would be overcome with sinful imagery; during prayer, when he worked in the scriptorium, when he worked in the herb garden and worst of all, when he lay down upon his bed at night. He lay upon the hard-pressed straw and Dwalin would appear, his eyes dark and hungry. Ori would shiver and shake and try to think of other things.

The dreams would come, strange hazy dreams of pale pink and green, with Dwalin’s huge body over his, looking down. His hands would press to his arms and Ori would awaken with heat between his legs and his hands pressed to his mouth in horror.

He would drag himself out from under his woollen blanket with dark shadows under his eyes and his braids all rough and limp from exhaustion. Busying himself would save him from his thoughts for a while, but they always returned when his mind grew lax or slid from a task he found tiresome.

He was gathering the twelfth row of prayer cloths when high priest Gunlul requested he travel to the confessional chamber. Four months had he lived within the monastery and the time had come for this higher duty. At once Ori felt both honoured and anxious and he hurried to carry out his duty.

The confessional chamber was two adjoining deep alcoves carved into the wall. Thick, oaken wood was built around to create walls and doors, the small chamber split into two with an oaken wall between them. Set within this wall was a single window, covered with a dark fabric, which allowed the occupants of either said to hear the other, but not to see their clear outline.

He sat on the wooden bench within the priest’s chamber, his hands fidgeting. The chamber was eerily quiet, the walls muffling the voices and noises of the general monastery. For a few moments the silence remained, before the creak of the adjoining chamber’s door sounded and someone thumped down onto the seat with a thud.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

Ori felt his eyes widen. It was the guardsman, voice just as rough and his breathing loud through the cloth. He bit back a whimper. “Speak freely sir and the Great Maker will offer forgiveness.” His voice was scratchy with nerves, heart beating hard and fast.

There was a pause before the guard spoke, his tone a little different. “There’s this innocent lad I cannae stop thinking about.”

Ori gripped the cloth over his knees, biting his lip. “Yes? Go on.” His voice was a near-squeak.

Dwalin continued, his voice growing strangely hoarse. “I cannae stop thinking about... such sinful thoughts. Of tearing off his garments and tanglin’ my fingers in his braid, tugging his head gently so I can kiss and lick his lovely neck. Such a tiny thing he is, lovely ginger beard and all.”

Ori flushed red hot, his legs jerking in shock. His stomach flipped, flickering with heat. “Mahal understands that his children sometimes suffer sinful desires. He would offer you forgiveness.” Truly, he prayed Dwalin would simply ask for forgiveness, the imagery was tearing him to pieces.

Dwalin coughed, “But Father, you do not know how terrible my thoughts are. I dream of having the lad against a wall, his big eyes starin’ up at me, my thigh spreading his legs as he whimpers into my mouth. And when I’ve finished with his mouth, I’ll suck down to his chest and suckle like a babe at his paps until he cries out my name.”

Ori shook, finding that his treacherous fingers had slid between his own legs. He whimpered, gasping as the guard continued to spout pure filth. And it was so, so easy to imagine himself as Dwalin’s mysterious lad, pressed against the chamber wall as the guard loomed over him and ravished his body with both hands and mouth.

“And then, when he cannae take no more teasing, I will take him into my mouth. Deep, deep as I can, hold tight to his hips so he cannae escape. And he would cry and moan, fingers grabbing my beard, desperate for more.”

Ori tried to muffle his noises as his hands moved, hips pressing into his fingers, but a choked cry escaped. He could barely think, mind all a blur, the forbidden touch overwhelming, the pleasure so unexpectedly strong.

“Come lad, don’t silence yourself. I have only imagined you in pleasure. The true sound of your cries would be my undoing.” Dwalin’s voice was strained, breathless and Ori froze, horror and shame coursing through him. There was a long pause where only their heavy breathes could be heard and Ori considered bolting. But he was still hard and panting and flushed and he dared not think of the punishment for such a sin.

Dwalin spoke once more, but his voice was quiet and soft. “Ori lad? I am sorry for this. I’ve not been able to put you from my mind since I first met you. I would love to court yer, though I know priests cannae do such a thing. I never wanted to force you into such a shameful act.”

Ori was shocked, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He hesitantly, shyly, drew the cloth from the chamber window. Dwalin knelt on the floor, his face reddened and clothes ruffled as though hastily retied. He looked contrite, eyes downcast in sadness. He was a gorgeous dwarf. Had he met him before joining the monastery...

“Would you give me time to think on it? And to know you? We have only met once and I... and I would not leave my faith for someone who was not a good dwarf.” He felt so nervous, his body still thrumming with both heat and anxiety. He _wanted_ Dwalin. He wanted to be taken roughly against a wall, crying the guard’s name. But he also wanted to have a respectful, loving courtship and to fall in love, not simply in lust.

Dwalin stood, bowing. “I would give you time, as long as you wished. I would only wish to court you how you wished, you deserve such respect.” Dwalin smiled and Ori felt his heart leap, red staining his cheeks and his length twitching under his robes embarrassingly. “I have an elder brother, a fine, renowned scholar. If you found the idea to your taste, perhaps you might stay with him whilst I court you? And, should I turn out to be disagreeable, you could return here?”

Ori nodded, feeling hope well within him. The guardsman wanted him to decide, did not want to force him or use him. Despite his rather unorthodox methods, he seemed sincere and... respectful. Though his deviance in the very house of their Great Maker was a little jarring and distasteful. “I, I should like that.” He flushed, smiling, ducking his head as Dwalin’s smile grew into a beaming grin, his eyes alight.

 

\--

 

Ori giggled as he watched Dori grumble to Balin as the dwarven priest blessed them and watched as they tied marriage braids into each other’s beards. Nori hovered just beyond the archway, unseen by all but Ori himself, looking a mixture of proud and disapproving. More that Dwalin was a guardsman and he, Nori, a thief of course.

Dori would probably come around, with the way he was chuckling at Balin’s dry humour and charm. Dwalin smiled down at him and swung a huge arm around his shoulders. He was wonderful, hardly just the filth-talking guard he had met those few years ago. He was brave and playful and funny and patient. And from those hungry growls, about to ravish him as soon as they were clear of their relatives. Ori couldn’t wait.

 

End.


	30. Fem!Beorn/Fem!Bilbo - Fingering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _’Fem!Bilbo/Fem!Beorn - Oh yeah, you know you want to see that.’_
> 
> Prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=13551549#t13551549
> 
>  
> 
> (A/N: Extremely short mini-fill, less than 400 words.)

**Warnings:** Size kink, Size difference, femslash, fingering, oral (mentioned), kissing

 

Beorn cradled the hobbit in one arm, her fingertips gently, oh so gently, teasing down to the dark curls between the tiny creature’s legs. So tiny, so delicate, all soft curves and bright curls. Her cheeks so rosy around her lips, parting to give a cry as her thick fingertip slid to the wet folds hidden under the mound of fur.

Bilbo whimpered, her hands grasping at her spread legs as she squirmed. Beorn smiled down at the hobbit, feeling heat slide down to her own thighs, the answering throb of her sex as Bilbo gasped and writhed. Even a single fingertip was too much, too thick to fit fully beneath the folds, to rest against that sensitive nub. So she simply rubbed over, hardly daring to delve farther in, just sliding her fingertip over the escaping wetness with the gentleness one might stroke a newborn animal.

Bilbo cried out, bucking up into her touch, biting her lip as her body quivered. Beorn felt a growl escape her as she watched her lover. The hobbit was just so sensitive and delicious; her cries and whimpers begging for more and faster. She acquiesced, pressing just a tad bit harder, just a little faster. Not too rough, nothing that might harm, but just enough to slip from teasing to the fast jerks that would drive Bilbo wild.

“Beorn! Ah! Please!” Bilbo’s back arched, her ankles and fingernails digging into the skin of her arm as she begged, her sweet voice torn and helplessly wanting. Beorn could deny the hobbit little and she pressed her fingertip down as she rubbed, the tip pressing to the hidden entrance to tease, while the first joint bumped against the tiny nub. Her lover’s hips shook, the hobbit’s moan rising to a loud cry of her name as Bilbo jerked upwards, her eyes shut tight as she threw her head back.

Oh it was a delightful sight, Bilbo’s small body wracked with shudders, her hips jolting still as she gasped and sobbed. Her fingertip drew gentle circles over the twitching entrance, soothing the burn of the harsh peak. Some nights she would spend long hours out of sight in the garden, the warm sun catching in the hobbit’s curls as she writhed beneath Beorn’s tongue. This afternoon the hobbit had simply needed her greatly and fast and quick she had been for her lover’s pleasure. 

Bilbo smiled, pressing Beorn’s slick fingertip to her lips for a kiss and a less-innocent lick and Beorn felt herself throb. There was still time left before nightfall, still time to feel the press of devious fingers and a hungry tongue within her folds. She drew Bilbo closer for a kiss, a moan of need escaping her lips as the hobbit teased them with her own.

END.

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of the characters or locations, they are (c) J.R.R Tolkien and family.


End file.
